Please support the authors by reading Manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the Manhwa: Jinx But be aware that the Manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link of the table of contents about Jinx. Here is the link where you can find the table of contents of analyzed Manhwas. Here are the links, if you are interested in the first work from Mingwa, BJ Alex, and the 2 previous essays about Jinx The Loser’s Mother: Fragments of a Mother and The Birth of The Shotgun – part 1
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For my avid readers, the title and illustration give the impression that I will focus on Joo Jaewoong’s death and its signification in the protagonist’s life. They are not wrong, yet it covers only one aspect of this analysis. Jinx-philes have already sensed that this moment was not only the night that ended a life, but the one that birthed a weight Joo Jaekyung would carry forward: guilt that refused to fade, and a self-loathing that no victory could silence. If these are the roots of the curse, then “Emperor” names the crown — a crown whose origin is far murkier than the public believes. However, people shouldn’t forget that in that moment, the main lead was just a teenager, who belonged to a boxing studio. He was not a MMA fighter, he was not the Emperor either.
Like readers who thought they knew the main lead (a psychopath, a jerk…), fans in Jinx believe they know their idol. 
(chapter 26) They have watched his fights 
(chapter 23), memorized his moves and titles, and repeated the anecdotes told in gyms and on TV. They’ve heard how he was “saved” by sports from a darker path, and cheered for him as the “Emperor” — the handsomest fighter, the man who broke the arcade’s punching machine 
(chapter 26), the champion who stands above the rest. But if the champion’s life is already an open book, why did Mingwa wait so long to reveal his childhood and family? The answer is simple. It is because Joo Jaekyung has been called the Emperor till his fight against Baek Junmin! These public portraits — the friendly banter in the gym, the theatrical ring intros — show us the merchandise, not the man. They are the carefully polished surface presented to fans and fellow fighters alike, repeated so often that even those closest to him believe them. Yet behind this image 
(chapter 30) lies a past left unspoken, a silence so complete that his own history became an empty space others could fill as they wished. This essay brings these two “stories” together — the Emperor and the boy. And now, you may be wondering how I came to connect the champion’s trauma to his future career as an MMA fighter. The answer lies in Joo Jaekyung’s own voice. 😮
The Emperor in The News
When the news broke in chapter 70, 
(chapter 70), Hwang Byungchul’s anger fell squarely on the champion. 
(chapter 70) To him, it looked as though Jaekyung had made the reckless choice to return to the ring so soon. That was the trap: the headline and phrasing were designed to make it appear that the decision was the fighter’s own. The opening line alone 
(Chapter 70) created the illusion that this break had been perceived as a punishment, and that Jaekyung was eager to prove himself once again. No wonder the director assumed he had given his consent.
The visuals reinforced the illusion. The entertainment agency recycled old images not just because they lacked recent photos, but because they wanted to tap into the nostalgia of his earlier popularity, before the match against the Shotgun. It was as if someone wanted to overwrite the present and rewrite his history, packaging him in the glow of past victories. Even within the same news segment, there were two distinct “voices”: the official announcer highlighting his return, and an unseen voice quietly bringing up the suspension again — a reminder meant to frame his comeback as a personal mission rather than a corporate decision. In truth, the match was arranged by “Joo Jaekyung’s team” and MFC — a convenient shield for those actually pulling the strings. (chapter 70) Thus I conclude that the first comment (chapter 70) was to divert attention from the other persons involved in the decision for the next fight.
Notice what the journalist does not say. The CEO’s name is absent. There is no mention of the closed-door meeting between Park Namwook, Jaekyung, and the CEO where the fight was proposed. 
(chapter 69) By erasing these details, the public sees only two players: the Emperor and his anonymous “team.” 
(chapter 69) It was as if the main lead, backed by his team, had personally approached MFC to request the match — an illusion strengthened by the opening line, “MFC’s former champion Joo Jaekyung will be returning to the ring this fall after serving his suspension.” This way, if the decision draws criticism, the CEO can retreat behind the fighter and his team, like they did in the past. 
(Chapter 54) Back then, the champion had not reacted to this comment. Even in the worst case, the CEO can hide behind one of the MFC match managers or doctors. 
(chapter 41) But that excuse would be a fiction: Jaekyung hasn’t even met those doctors or talked to the MFC match manager 
(chapter 05). He has been chasing after his fated partner. Finally, he hasn’t even signed any paper or agreed at the meeting. In fact, he remained silent for the most part of the time and the reason for this urgent meeting was his request for proper investigation concerning the switched spray: 
(chapter 67) That’s the reason why this suggestion from the CEO appeared the very next day. 
(chapter 69)
When the orthopedic surgeon Park Junmin cleared him to remove the cast in chapter 61 
(chapter 61), it was paired with a recommendation for rehabilitation — not an immediate return to competition. This was actually a condition for his total recovery. On the other hand, the doctor imagined or suggested that his patient wished to return to the ring so soon. No medical professional ever signed off on an autumn fight. Yet the date is already set, and the headlines frames it as a confident comeback without any medical backup. The Emperor’s name is splashed everywhere, but none of the words belong to him.
And this is not the first time we’ve seen this sleight of hand. Back in chapter 57, a television broadcast featured an “exclusive interview” 
(chapter 57) with one of his close associates — a man whose face was hidden, speaking as though he were the athlete’s voice. That interview was accompanied by a familiar victory image 
(chapter 57), a stock photo already used in other press pieces. This picture comes from after the fight in the States: 
(chapter 41), while the image released with the fall match announcement was the one from when he first won his champion title. (chapter 70) Since MFC and the journalist are recycling old images, they unwittingly revealed their own deception — dressing up the present in the clothes of the past. LOL!
The message is the same in every case: Jaekyung “speaks,” but only through others. His former stage name mirrored his situation, as he owned the champion belt for quite some time. The title “Emperor” 
(chapter 14) seems to radiate absolute power — the kind of authority that commands armies, bends laws, and answers to no one. It is meant to ooze charisma and control, a name that suggests the bearer acts on his own will. Yet, in truth, emperors have rarely ruled alone. Behind every throne stand ministers, advisors, generals, and family factions, each shaping decisions from the shadows. An emperor who ignores these forces risks losing his crown.
In Joo Jaekyung’s case, the irony is sharper still. Far from being the all-powerful figure his stage name implies, the “Emperor” is a role built and sustained by others — MFC executives, Park Namwook, the entertainment agency — each serving as both his court and his cage. They decide when he fights, how he is presented, and even the tone of the stories told in his name. Once he tried to complain about his tight schedule, this is what he got to hear: 
(chapter 17) He was blamed for his popularity. The man inside the crown does not act or speak freely; his words are filtered, scripted, or replaced entirely.
This makes the title “Emperor” less a badge of sovereignty and more a mask for dependence. Like a ruler hemmed in by court protocol and political intrigue, Jaekyung’s every public move is mediated by the hands of others. The grandeur of the title hides the quiet truth: the Emperor is voiceless, and the crown he wears is one that demands obedience rather than granting freedom. That’s his curse. His identity is filtered, packaged, and sold by those who stand in his shadow – so much so that people send him bottles of alcohol because that’s what one offers a champion, 
(chapter 12), never mind that he hardly drinks. The gesture fits the fantasy they’ve built around him, not the reality of a man who rejects alcohol due to his addicted father, a reminder that even the tokens of admiration are shaped by the image, not the truth. So who is this so-called close associate or “Joo Jaekyung’s team” exactly that decides for him, speaks for him, and hides behind his title? Besides, why did the journalist change from “one of his close associates” to “Joo Jaekyung’s team”?
The Voice Behind the Crown
In chapter 57, the television broadcast introduced “one of his close associates” — (chapter 57) a figure whose face and name were hidden, speaking on behalf of the Emperor. In the essay Craving Mama’s Shine – part 1 (locked) I had presented different possibilities about the identity of this “close associate”. But with the new announcement, it becomes clear that figure can only be Park Namwook. He is the only one who arranged the meeting between the CEO and Joo Jaekyung. The anonymity was not a courtesy; it was a shield. By keeping his face and identity off the record, he could shape the narrative without owning it, avoiding any direct responsibility for the words attributed to him. Yet the choice of “close associate” was deliberate — it positioned him as the man closest to Jaekyung, someone with privileged access and authority to speak for him. It was a claim of proximity and influence, the sort of title that sells the image of a trusted confidant, even as it erases the fighter’s own voice.
The broadcast itself set the tone even before his segment began. Just prior to the “interview,” the anchor announced: 
(chapter 57) The nickname, played for entertainment value, was another way of turning the champion into a caricature — a marketable, amusing persona instead of a man with a past and agency. It is quite telling that Park Namwook’s interview aired immediately after the anchor referred to Jaekyung as “Mama Joo Jaekyung Fighter.” This was not the lofty “Emperor” title repeated in gyms and ring intros — it was more a mocking nickname, a deliberate jab meant to provoke. In that moment, the Emperor was verbally pulled down from his pedestal, yet the images shown alongside the segment told a different story: carefully chosen shots of him as a champion, a visual echo of his marketable persona. The dissonance was striking.
Equally telling is that the “Emperor” title had already vanished from the conversation. Its disappearance suggests that Jaekyung was never the one who chose it — it was a label assigned to him by others, to be used or dropped at their convenience. Park Namwook made no attempt to restore it or defend his fighter’s dignity, like mentioning the drug incident in the States or the spray incident in Seoul. The cause for his “silence” is simple: he doesn’t want to admit his failures and responsibility. He prefers the champion taking the blame. Hence this interview was not brought up by the manager: 
. (chapter 54) In my opinion, the man is trying to return to the past, thinking that his “popularity” can come back, not realizing that he is being manipulated himself. On the contrary, he stepped into the role of spokesperson without hesitation, speaking as if he were Jaekyung’s voice while keeping his own face and name hidden. He only speaks, when he feels safe. He can not be responsible for the champion’s recovery. (chapter 57) The message was clear: he had no issue with his fighter being framed this way (“Mama Fighter Joo Jaekyung”), so long as the interview served its purpose. Park Namwook may not be a cynical manipulator, but his silence in the face of mockery speaks volumes. In his mind, any coverage is better than none; to vanish from the public eye is worse than being nicknamed “Mama Fighter.” By stepping into the media slot, he believes he’s keeping Jaekyung alive in the public consciousness. Yet in doing so, he stands shoulder to shoulder with another, unseen voice — the one that coined the nickname in the first place. In both chapter 57 and chapter 70, this pairing repeats itself: Namwook’s loyalty becomes indistinguishable from complicity. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s lending his presence to a narrative that diminishes the man he claims to represent.
By chapter 70, the personal title “close associate” had shifted to the more generic “Joo Jaekyung’s team.” On the surface, the word “team” suggests equity, collaboration, and shared responsibility. But in Park Namwook’s vocabulary, “team” has never meant equality. His idea of a team mirrors the hierarchy he operates in — a boss who directs, and subordinates who follow without question, like we could observe at the hospital. 
(Chapter 52) This framing lets him claim the prestige of leadership while leaving himself room to withdraw if things go wrong. Yosep was the one notifying MFC and reporting the incident to the police, Potato explaining his discovery to Joo Jaekyung and blaming the star.
And yet, the choice of this term also reveals a subtle shift. By saying “Joo Jaekyung’s team,” he is placing the athlete’s name in front — not his own, not MFC’s. That way, he believes that he can avoid accountability behind the team. However, he is not grasping that gradually, he is stepping down from his self-proclaimed ownership of the gym. Whether intentionally or not, the manager is acknowledging that the gym’s growing identity will eventually crystallize around the fighter himself. The name “Team Black” hasn’t appeared yet, but its logic is already here: a team that exists for the athlete and with the athlete’s consent, not a faceless collective that speaks over him. When that name finally surfaces, it will function as a boundary—an institutional “enough”—marking the end of treating the man like merchandise.
Here, the article “You Don’t Have to Put Up With Everything” offers a revealing lens. The article warns against confusing empathy with passive tolerance. While it’s important to understand that people may have difficult histories or traumas, compassion should not be used as a justification for allowing someone to mistreat or disrespect you. Understanding someone’s struggles does not mean accepting harmful gestures, words, or behaviors. Setting limits is not selfish or arrogant, but an act of self-respect and emotional protection. Boundaries are not rejection — they are self-care, a way to protect one’s well-being without guilt. This is exactly what the manager expected from Kim Dan. 
(Chapter 36) He should tolerate the celebrity’s moods and put up with everything. The manager didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t get affected. But what is the consequence of such a passive tolerance? An individual’s self-esteem can slowly erode, leading to a gradual loss of their sense of self. They may stop recognizing their own desires, needs, and rights, often without even realizing this is happening. This is because emotional exhaustion often develops subtly over time, rather than appearing as a sudden, dramatic event.
Thus, what begins with a hurtful remark can end in emotional blackmail. What was once a pointed criticism turns into contempt. And you, who at first knew what you wouldn’t tolerate, end up justifying the unjustifiable, in the name of empathy or the fear of loneliness. The result is a slow erosion of your self-esteem. You gradually disappear, ceasing to recognize your desires, needs, and rights. And the worst part is that you don’t even realize it. Because often, emotional exhaustion doesn’t come as an explosion, but rather as a steady trickle. Quoted from https://psychology-spot.com/you-do-not-have-to-put-up-wiht-everything/
As you can see, it can lead to depression. That has been Jaekyung’s position for years as well— enduring decisions made without his real consent, swallowing public criticism and badmouthing, and staying silent 
(chapter 31) when punished. In this light, Park Namwook embodies the very dynamic the article warns against: a figure who benefits from another’s compliance, maintaining control not through open dialogue, but through unspoken rules and the threat of exclusion.
The First Curse of the Manufactured Emperor
And now, you may be wondering why I am focusing so much on the absence of voice from Joo Jaekyung — the Emperor and the man. It is because he has been used as a tool, more precisely as an ATM machine for MFC. According to the teacher in Jinx 
(chapter 73), by becoming a boxer, the champion wouldn’t make a lot of money. With this comment, he implied that boxing in South Korea had been losing popularity 10 years ago. This explicates why gradually, the members from Hwang Byungchul left the studio. And it was likely the same in the illegal fighting circuit. 
(chapter 73) The popularity of MMA in the States gave them the opportunity to revive fighting sports, a figure who could draw crowds and sponsors, making such events fashionable again.
For me, the Emperor was created for that reason. His public image was rewritten — he was called a “genius” 
(chapter 72) instead of “hard-working,” a man who “chose sports over a dark path.” Yet if you look closely, this celebrated “ascension” 
(chapter 72) isn’t tied to the director’s boxing studio at all — it’s linked to the arcade’s punching machine incident. (chapter 26) This moment, trivial in reality, became the origin story of the Emperor, as though the broken machines had revealed a prodigy destined for greatness. That’s the reason the star rejects this intro. In fact, this incident contributed to create the champion as a spoiled brat. In truth, the director had suggested that Jaekyung enter the sport professionally so that he could feed himself, but his reasoning had nothing to do with arcade games or instant legend. That pragmatic nudge was later overwritten with a glamorous tale that erased the long hours in a run-down boxing studio 
(chapter 72), the scars of his family history, and the years of survival before the cage. This is history rewritten, his boxing past and family erased. Why? His origins could expose the ugly verity: the link between criminality and boxing (as such fighting sports). Secondly, because his real story, though moving, lacked the glamorous allure needed to market him. His real story would have revealed that to rise to the top, you need relentless work, not a miraculous moment. That version was never going to sell as well as the “genius” myth.
With his success, his “gym” soon attracted members from different martial arts — judo, jiu-jitsu — all chasing the dream of becoming rich and famous like him. 
(chapter 46) Most of them thought that by staying close to him, they could benefit from his popularity. To conclude, for many of them proximity to the Emperor wasn’t about learning discipline or technique; it was about absorbing his fame by osmosis. Hence they complained and accepted the gifts and money so easily. 
(chapter 41) Observe how the manager is acting here. He is speaking, touching the star like his prize and possession. The Emperor became the merchandise, the illusion, the bait to draw both viewers and fighters. However, being “labeled as genius” can only push desperate fighters to take a short-cut: bribes and drugs. Hence Seonho couldn’t last a whole round. 
(chapter 46) And, like any product, once it was seen as damaged, its value plummeted. The moment he “lost” his title and suffered injury (chapter 52), the dream began to unravel. 
(chapter 52) This panel captures this shift perfectly: two fighters casually dismiss him over dinner. In those words, the Emperor isn’t a mentor, a champion, or even a man — he’s a broken commodity, no longer worth the investment. The same people who once fed off his popularity are the first to abandon him when the promise of easy gain disappears.
This served more than publicity. Through him, they could obscure their crimes and build a parallel market in the underground fighting world. And here, the lesson from “You Don’t Have to Put Up With Everything” becomes vital: understanding Jaekyung’s difficult past or the pressures on the industry should not excuse the way his dignity and history have been trampled. His compassion for the system that raised him has been turned into passive tolerance — exactly the dynamic the article warns against.
And now, you see why I chose to postpone the second part of The Birth of the Shotgun. Without Baek Junmin — his shadow in the ring — Joo Jaekyung would never have been made to shine so brightly. No wonder why he was so jealous. He believed that his victories were rigged too.
Yet the irony is that Park Namwook is no mastermind. As we’ve seen time and again, he follows the lead of others — the CEO, the entertainment agency, perhaps even unseen backers — rather than setting the agenda himself. He is the mouthpiece, not the brain. The “close associate” title flattered him with the appearance of authority; the “team” label protects him when that authority becomes risky. Both are masks, worn depending on the circumstances, to keep himself valuable to the system. On the other hand, he is gradually revealing his real position: he is not the owner of the gym! 
(chapter 22) He is even disposable. He is gradually giving more rights to his “boy”, the real director of Team Black. And the moment you perceive the manager as the main lead’s voice, you can grasp the true significance of the slap at the hospital: 
(chapter 52) For the first time, the main lead had voiced his own thoughts and emotions. He had used his real “voice”, revealed his unwell-being: 
(chapter 52) To this outburst, Park Namwook slapped Jaekyung in front of others (chapter 52). 
(chapter 52) That was not the act of a coach correcting an athlete — it was the gesture of an owner disciplining a pet or a possession, a reminder of who controlled the narrative. In that moment, the Emperor did not protest. 
(chapter 52) He chose silence, and later avoidance, staying away from the gym. That silence was not weakness, but choice: he would listen less and less to his hyung.
From then on, the champion’s public image — whether filtered through the “close associate” or the “team” — was not his own. Park Namwook treated him less like an athlete 
(chapter 70) and more like a product: something to be displayed, sold, and, when necessary, handled roughly to keep in line. The shift in labels is just another layer of that merchandising process — a packaging change to suit the current market, not a recognition of the man inside. To conclude, the champion has always been voiceless all this time, even here: 
(chapter 36) All he needed to do was to fight: 
(chapter 36)
And yet, if you compare the Emperor in the present with the teenager in the past, you’ll see a stark reversal. The Joo Jaekyung of today has his voice mediated, silenced, or replaced by others; the boy of yesterday dared to speak for himself. In the confrontation with his father, he voiced his own desires and defiance directly 
(chapter 73) — unfiltered, unmarketed, unprotected. It was raw, dangerous honesty, and it came at a cost: the loss of his voice!
The Night That Stole His Voice
If you compare the Emperor to the boy he once was, the contrast is striking. As a teenager confronting his father, Joo Jaekyung still voiced his own desires. 
(chapter 73) Six years earlier, however, his voice had already been battered by silence. After his mother’s abandonment at age six, the only connection he retained with her was a phone number —
(chapter 72) We don’t know how many times he called, but each time we see him do it, his face is injured. 
(chapter 72) The phone calls are therefore intertwined with the boxing studio, as though pain itself pushed him toward her. At ten, he picked up the receiver and let it ring only a few times before hanging up. The next time, in the dead of winter, he finally spoke, promising that if she returned, he would protect her from his father and make enough money to keep her safe. 
(chapter 72) Each time what answered him was not her voice, but a machine: “ (chapter 72) His words met a recording, his promise suspended in a vacuum. Whether she listened to his words or not, the outcome was the same — she never came back. No reply, no echo. Her silence told him the truth: his wish would never be heard. From that point on, she vanished not only from his life but from his speech; he no longer mentioned her. That silence became his default — speaking desires aloud was pointless if no one would answer.
By the time of the morning argument with his father at sixteen, we can conclude that the nightly calls had long stopped. The boy had given up on being heard. (chapter 73) Six years later, at sixteen, he finally raised his voice again — this time to his father. He wouldn’t give up on boxing. Unlike the mother, the father answered. But his “reply” came in the form of insults, blows, and a dark prophecy: that Jaekyung would never amount to anything, 
(chapter 73) that he was born a loser, that his dream was a joke. Here, the voice met not silence but resistance, mockery, and humiliation. And unlike with his mother, Jaekyung did not retreat — he cursed back. (chapter 73) He swore he would prove the man wrong, that he would win, and spat the most dangerous line of all: “If I win, you can keel over and die for all I care.” That evening, he saw his father’s corpse — 
(chapter 73) and with it, another layer of his voice disappeared. He had the impression, he had killed his father. His words had been more dangerous than his punches. Hence he could only come to resent his own voice and words. And now, you comprehend why the Emperor allowed the hyung to become his voice. To conclude, the silence of those nights became the silence of the man. As you can see, the curse did not fall on Joo Jaekyung’s voice in one night — it was built, in stages, over years. But the death of his father linked to the argument represented the final straw that broke the camel’s back.
This is the pivotal difference: with the mother, voicing a wish had no consequence because it dissolved into nothingness. With the father, voicing a wish carried weight — it provoked, it struck back, and, in Jaekyung’s eyes, it cursed. When his father died that same evening, the boy was left to carry the unbearable suspicion that his words had somehow brought it about. That night became the night his voice was poisoned: one parent had taught him that speaking was useless; the other had taught him that speaking could kill. From then on, his voice retreated into the ring, where the only “speaking” he did was with his fists. And now, you comprehend why he is using his sex partners as surrogate fighters, why he treats them as toys. 
(chapter 55)
The Birth of the Jinx
The two formative wounds — his mother’s unanswered call and his father’s cursed reply — shaped the way Joo Jaekyung would handle intimacy for years to come. With his mother, speaking led to nothing; his voice dissolved into silence. With his father, speaking led to too much; his words became a curse, followed by guilt and grief. From these experiences, he learned that words in close relationships were unpredictable weapons. They could vanish, leaving him abandoned, or strike deep, leaving him ashamed.
Sex became his remedy to fight against loneliness and his refuge from this danger 
(chapter 2) — a space where he could act without having to speak. In the bedroom, as in the ring, the body could carry the conversation. Here, he could dominate, control, and release tension without the risk of verbal damage. His partners became surrogate opponents: sparring substitutes in a non-lethal match. Treating them as “toys” wasn’t only objectification; it was a form of control that, in his mind, protected both sides. Toys don’t demand answers, don’t talk back, and don’t leave you cursed with regret. They remain safely outside the territory where his voice had once done harm.
But this logic, built to keep others safe from his voice and himself safe from their silence, begins to falter with Kim Dan. The latter embodies not only the mother (abandonment, silence- I believe that he resembles her too) and father (argument, drinking), but also the child. Dan cries, shows his vulnerability and admits his mistakes. 
(chapter 1) He embodies innocence and as such lack of experiences. Moreover, he talks, makes suggestions for the champion’s sake 
(chapter 27), spent time with him, asks questions, confronts, and refuses to be reduced to a body in the room. He breaks the rule of silence. With him, Jaekyung can no longer hide behind the physical alone; he is forced to speak, to explain, to voice desires and fears. He pushes Jaekyung to engage in ways he’s spent years avoiding. In this way, Kim Dan becomes the first real threat to the system the champion built after those two curses — and possibly the first person who could prove that words can be safe again. And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung was moved by the birthday card
(chapter 62) To most, it might look like a simple gesture, but for him, it was a rare and precious thing — a voice that had taken the time to shape itself into words just for him. 
(chapter 55) After years of associating speech with either silence or harm, receiving a long-winded, carefully written message felt almost unreal. He saw the effort behind it, the deliberate choice to put thoughts and emotions into language instead of letting them fade away or turn into weapons. In that card, Kim Dan offered something neither of his parents had managed: a voice that reached him without wounding. No silence, no insult. For the champion, it wasn’t just a card — it was proof that words could be built into a gift, not a curse. The latter expressed his dreams and gratitude. Thus I deduce that the Emperor’s curse will be broken by a spell: words!
(chapter 55) The “spell” to break it is not some grand external event, but the simple, sustained act of honest communication — something that has been denied to him since childhood.
By linking this to Kim Dan, it becomes obvious that the Emperor’s liberation won’t come from winning another fight or reclaiming a title, but from restoring his own voice in a relationship where speaking is safe, heard, and reciprocated. Boxing was the only language he ever learned from his parents (chapter 72) — a vocabulary of fists, jabs, and physical dominance as a way to earn money and recognition— but with Dan, the champion is slowly acquiring a new language. His hands, once trained only for striking and defending, begin to communicate through gentle gestures: an embrace 
(chapter 68), a kiss, a pat, a caress or by simply holding hands
. In this way, the curse that began when his voice was silenced and his hands were weaponized will only be broken when those same hands learn to speak tenderness. Look how doc Dan reacted to his public embrace: 
(chapter 71) He saw affection in the hug, but he still doubted the champion’s action.
The Prison of the Boy
And now, you are probably wondering why I selected a tree for the background illustration of The Night-Cursed Emperor. 
Until now, the design’s images have played a secondary role, yet the answer lies in a single scene from chapter 41. 
(chapter 41) Under the bright sunlight, Kim Dan reached out toward the leaves, his hand open and unguarded, as he silently thought of the man he loved. This gesture, so simple yet so revealing, became the unspoken confession that marked the start of a different kind of freedom—the freedom to feel.
In my earlier analysis Prison of Glass , Key Of Time , I had argued that Joo Jaekyung’s habit of meditating before the expansive glass window in his penthouse was more than a moment of calm — it was a ritual of self-confinement. 
(chapter 53) The glass was an invisible barrier, offering the illusion of freedom while keeping him trapped in the moment of his unresolved trauma. The closer he stood to it, the further he was from true release, his gaze fixed outward to avoid looking inward. That’s why he had no eye in that scene: 
(chapter 55)
This new scene 
(chapter 73) reveals why that reading was correct: the penthouse window is not just a symbolic device of the present — it is the direct heir of a far older image burned into his memory. Here, as a teenager, he stands before a small barred window in the room where his father’s corpse lies. The resemblance is not visual coincidence but emotional continuity. Both windows let in light without granting escape; both present the outside world as something visible yet forever out of reach.
In this panel, the confinement is literal. The bars fragment the daylight, reducing it to slivers, making the outside world seem even more inaccessible. He is facing the window and he corpse, his eyes fixed on the narrow frame of light, as if distance could make the reality behind him vanish. But the truth is locked in place — the body on the floor, the night’s events, the words exchanged. This is the night that froze him.
From that point on, every window in his life — no matter how large, modern, or luxurious — became a reenactment of that first prison. (chapter 55) The penthouse’s vast glass wall is just a polished version of this barred opening, a reminder that while his circumstances changed, the barrier never truly fell. The trauma stayed intact, shaping the way he saw the world and himself. The boy who stared through those bars never left that room; the man still carries that gaze. But there’s more to it.
Observe how he is standing in front of the window: (chapter 73) he is not only frozen, but also silent! Not only he lost his voice that night, but also he could never talk about it to anyone! He was forced to carry this huge burden alone. Who would feel empathy or attachment to such a man, when he was famous for his bad behavior? But deep down, the boy had come to love his father despite his flaws. This is his deepest secret which is coming to the surface: his love and guilt!
Even the window denies him solace. He could never see the moon behind that small window, just as he failed to notice the snow falling, when he attempted to contact his mother: (chapter 72) Nature was invisible to him; his world was defined by conflict, neglect, and survival, not by moments of beauty. He was never taught to enjoy the present moment.
Chapter 73 signals a shift. Like in chapter 71, where he shields his gaze, his “third eye” — the inner sight that perceives emotional truth — is beginning to open and recall his “sins”. His fever is not just physical; it’s the body’s acknowledgment of pain long repressed. He is starting to allow himself to feel, to admit vulnerability.
(chapter 71)
And this is where the night changes meaning. Until now, darkness for him was bound to abandonment and death. But in chapter 70, the owl’s call pierces the silence — 
(chapter 70) the night can also be alive, communicative, protective. In that moment, the moon becomes more than a distant light in the sky: it is a patient witness, a calm listener in the stillness, reflecting the truth he has yet to voice. 
(chapter 70) Its soft glow contrasts with the blinding glare of the cage lights, suggesting that under the moon, there is space for gentleness, for hearing one’s own heartbeat and another’s words. Just as the moon guides travelers through darkness, it can guide him toward a night that does not suffocate him with loss, but offers orientation and connection.
This reframes his past behavior: his repeated night rescues of Kim Dan were not merely impulsive heroics; 
(chapter 60) they were his own form of therapy. In saving someone else in the night, 
(chapter 65) he could prove to himself he was not powerless, he was valuable, capable of protecting what mattered. 
(chapter 69) He was not too late either. And the moment doc Dan discovers what the silent hero has done for him so many times, the former will realize that he has always been special to the Emperor. Moreover, the latter had never abandoned him in the end.
The curse of the Night-Cursed Emperor — the depression, the insomnia, the silence — will only break when he can walk through the night not as a rescuer masking his own wounds, but as a man who voices his emotions to the one person who has truly shared those nights with him. And now, Jinx-philes can grasp my illustration. The moment Joo Jaekyung starts confiding to doc Dan about his inner world, he will not only regain his voice, but also his life! He will be free and no longer the merchandise “Joo Jaekyung the fighter”. He will become a man with a history that is finally his to tell. And if his mother is still alive… she can be criticized for her actions. How so? It is because she was not by his side. She believed the “myth”. She probably imagined that he was “happy”. With his regained voice, the schemers will lose their hold over him; they will no longer be able to manipulate the silence that once kept him bound. Park Namwook has thrived in the shadow of his trauma — reframing the scars of that night as “mania”
, (chapter 9) as if the champion’s volatility were a quirk (the actions of a spoiled child) to be managed rather than a wound to be healed. It is because he never talked to the champion or investigated his past. It was only about money and glory. The manufactured image of the erratic, temperamental fighter served Namwook well; it excused rough handling, justified bad press, and kept Joo Jaekyung dependent. Once the Emperor can name the truth of that night, the fiction collapses — and with it, Namwook’s control. He can only be judged as a liar and even a traitor, but we know that Joo Jaekyung has a big heart. He could love his father despite the abuse. Now, the missing link is Cheolmin! 
(chapter 13) Observe that this name is a combination between Hwang Byungchul and Baek Junmin! Under this light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete kept his existence in the dark for so long! It is because the latter belongs to his past and knows the truth behind the Emperor! He was aware of his suffering. For him, he is not just a fighter, but someone who needed FUN in his life!
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51, 52, and 73 [I am excluding the match]—his role is far from minor. He is, in fact, one of the main invisible architects of the champion’s trauma and jinx, the one who once stood across from him on a night that would shape the course of both their lives. Long before he was known as the Shotgun, Baek Junmin might have pulled the trigger on something else entirely: the last remnant of Jaekyung’s innocence.
(chapter 73) Their violent encounter may have led to the vanishing of the young boy’s smile, replacing it with the hardened scowl of the Emperor, the tyrant in the ring. 
(chapter 1) If Hwang Byungchul gave Jaekyung the tools to fight, Baek Junmin gave him the reason to fight like a bloodthirsty tyrant. He did not simply scar the soul — he engraved rage into the champion’s core. The tragedy is that Joo Jaekyung never even learned his name. Thus he didn’t react to his name, only to his face and his smile. 
(chapter 47) And yet, Baek Junmin reappears, not as a stranger, but as the remnant of a past that refuses to stay buried. Additionally, he appears only through the narration of others (fighter) 
(chapter 47) or in flashes 
(chapter 73) — a gesture here, a line there 
(chapter 73) — before vanishing again. To understand him, we have to read between the panels, compare the boy we meet in episode 73 
(chapter 73) to the man who resurfaces much later. 
(chapter 47) This is how we catch glimpses of him — by holding the present up against the past, by noticing what has changed and what has stayed the same.
(chapter 49) Jaekyung’s ears mark him as a champion who faced real opponents in real matches, many of them brutal. His injuries are the price of transparency, visibility, and legitimacy. They are scars earned in the light, while Baek Junmin is supposed to be a novice. 
(chapter 47)
(chapter 47) His damage was earned in the shadows and in staged fights manipulated by higher powers. 
(chapter 47)
(chapter 49) His cheeks have sunk, his jaw stands out more sharply, and his features seem carved by something deeper than age. This is not the look of someone forced to cut weight for competition, 
(chapter 37), for the new rising star is already much smaller and thinner than the protagonist. 
(chapter 49) It’s more likely the result of long-term stress, emotional corrosion, or drug use.
(chapter 73) This line is telling. It reveals not only the normalization of drug use among these teenagers, but also how intimately it’s tied to fighting. Juho isn’t offering an escape—he’s offering a tool. For him, drugs aren’t about rebellion or recreation; they are a performance enhancer. They’re marketed as part of the fighter’s toolkit.
(chapter 44) His skin is clearer, his features softer, and his face shows fewer signs of internal collapse. This is the effect of healthy food, structured discipline, clean training, and perhaps even emotional restraint. While Junmin’s face has been thinned by chaos, Jaekyung’s has been preserved by control. Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the athlete fell in love with doc Dan at first sight. Despite being older, 
(chapter 7) the “hamster” still carries a baby face: a visual marker of youth, innocence, and gentleness. He embodies everything the Shotgun does not: vulnerability without corruption, softness without vice. If Baek Junmin stands for a corrupted adulthood — weapons (The Shotgun), shadows, and counterfeit gold — then Kim Dan, by contrast, becomes the sanctuary of all that was lost: the child, the smile, the safe bed.
(chapter 49) reveals that anonymity was never his desire. It was his sentence.
(chapter 18) criminals don’t want attention. They avoid the law. They train their subordinates to vanish, to move through shadows, to speak only when spoken to. Baek Junmin wasn’t just playing a role —he was surviving a system that required him to erase himself. His hoodie was not simply clothing; it was a muzzle, a shadow he had to wear. That’s why the protagonist has not made a connection between his nemesis Baek Junmin and a Korean gang yet.
(chapter 69) How is this possible, when it is clear that the antagonist is already a thug? It is because Joo Jaekyung has no idea about his true identity. He only knows him as a cheater and liar!! 
(chapter 73) he blends in by choice. Black is not a neutral here; it is a decision to recede, to be part of the backdrop. The fabric pools around his hands, hiding the skin, while the hood hangs like an unspoken “no comment.” Even when he speaks, it is without volume or force. 
(chapter 73) And notice that the legend is trapped to a province, indicating that he could never make it out of there like the champion! Therefore it already implies that the future “Shotgun”‘s association with the hyung is not based on loyalty or mutual respect—it is circumstantial, even transactional. It is about money and usefulness. And now, you comprehend why Baek Junmin’s position in this gang is quite precarious.
(chapter 73) That’s the same number of persons in the dark alley, when you exclude Joo Jaekyung and Baek Junmin 
(chapter 52) Note that Director Choi Gilseok doesn’t express concern for Baek Junmin, his attention is on the Emperor! 
(chapter 47),he doesn’t take pride in killing someone.
(chapter 49) and there was no direct interaction between them in the street, I come to the conclusion that their past must have crossed a second time between these two meetings. If we take the hallway encounter as their third meeting 
(chapter 49), there must have been at least a second — brief, sharp, and wounding enough to carve itself into Baek Junmin’s memory while leaving no conscious trace in Joo Jaekyung’s. The difference is telling: what the champion repressed, the Shotgun carried it like a scar. It means Baek Junmin knows more about him than the reverse, and every glare, every barb he throws later is sharpened by a history Joo Jaekyung couldn’t anticipate they share
(chapter 73) lit only in patches, with more shadow than clarity. In this kind of setting, the black hoodie becomes something more than clothing — it is camouflage. He is not merely wearing the dark; he is using it, letting the folds of fabric and the absence of light blur his edges. It is as if he intends to merge with the scenery, to be just another shadow leaning against the wall. This double concealment — in time and in space — ensures that, for now, he remains invisible to the one person whose attention he will one day crave. He began in the shadows not just by circumstance but by mandate. Yet as the boy in the hoodie fades into memory, a new figure will eventually emerge from those shadows—not to hide, but to strike. And he will no longer wear a hood. He will wear scars.
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 73) in the present timeline, but an assault there can happen any time.
(chapter 17) And what did the loan shark tell him before provoking him? 
(chapter 17) Based on the champion’s facial expression after hearing Heo Manwook’s questions, it becomes clear that Joo Jaekyung experienced in the past a scene where he faced a knife and his head was smashed with a bottle of soju. The criminals are recognizable due to their tattoos and their weapons, the knife! And the logic of the knife in this world is telling: as Heo Manwook showed
(chapter 17), it appears when a fight is already lost. It is not a weapon of open combat, but of pride and desperation — a way to cheat fate when skill is not enough. Moreover, he was particularly vicious here. He attacked the champion from behind, a treacherous move. As you can see, the knife is strongly intertwined with the underworld, deception and cowardice.
(chapter 73) 
(chapter 17), a head injury 
(chapter 73), insults and provocations 
(chapter 73),
(chapter 17) and finally an allusion to the “maker”, god versus father. 
(chapter 73) Over time, the champion chose protective symbols— clouds and a dragon-like mask—tattoos designed not to intimidate but to shield. 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 17) They represent protection, not aggression. Where Baek Junmin’s tattoos speak of death and destruction, Jaekyung’s express escape, survival and resilience. Even in their body art, the two boys tell opposing stories: one driven by resentment and darkness, the other by endurance and self-preservation. 
(chapter 69) Nevertheless, they are here buying time. How so? If the champion were to fight again and even lose, they could bury the investigations. They were also biding time in order to stop investigations and the involvement of the media. 
(chapter 73) No… he is copying others and in particular Joo Jaekyung whom he resents. Thus their attitude in the ring is similar (ruthless), yet both act that way for different reasons: pain and seriousness 
(chapter 15) versus fun and schadenfreude 
(chapter 47). His new persona feels exaggerated, theatrical, hollow. He wanted to become unforgettable, but ended up being another disposable fighter in a system that only remembers champions. Now, his face is ruined: he lost teeth and has a broken nose. 
(chapter 57) Hence the nurse felt sympathy for him. At the health center, he received his long due punishment. Baek Junmin learned through the hard way what it means fighting without rules. He got deceived himself, thinking that his “hyung” would have his back.
(chapter 54) These words imply that the outcome was predicted… That’s the reason why Joo Jaekyung needs to remember the past. There lies the truth: they are “rigging the games because of bets! 
(chapter 54) and Joo Jaekyung’s father, Joo Jaewoong. 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 72) Their words or flat reflect their mindset and role. They are waste, once used, they can be discarded. For me, it becomes obvious that the ghost from the champion’s nightmare is a combination of Joo Jaewoong and The Shotgun. Besides, observe how the father’s corpse 
(chapter 54), the father with his fading trophy, Baek Junmin with his own unspoken history in the underground ring and the ghost’s words linked to the champion’s hands. Together, they symbolize the toxic underbelly of combat sports, the place where dreams are sold and consumed.
(chapter 73) He had a past worth remembering—something he even clung to in his ruined apartment, preserving his medal and document like a relic. Baek Junmin, by contrast, never belonged to the gym. He wasn’t trained. He never received formal recognition. He fought in shadows, kept to the margins, and remained a “legend” only in the backrooms of Gangwon’s illegal rings because he trusted his “hyung”.
(chapter 49). he desired to have a real title and admiration. 
(chapter 51) all along—a spectacle, not a coronation. Hence director Choi was overjoyed when he heard the verdict.
(chapter 52) That’s why he earned a lot of money. They used this fight to remove the Emperor from the stage quietly. It was time for him to give up on his throne. If they had let Baek Junmin win the fight, people would have questioned the referees. The Shotgun was there to prepare the coup d’Etat, hence the new champion is someone else. Joo Jaekyung wouldn’t remain so calm hearing this: 
(chapter 69) They knew the Shotgun wasn’t strong enough. But he didn’t. He mistook cheating for skill. He mistook chaos for greatness. He believed he had earned what was scripted all along.
(chapter 72) This explicates why Hwang Byungchul condemned the man and sided with the mother. But while Joo Jaewoong and Baek Junmin tried to escape through the sport, they both ended up in the criminal network. And neither made it out.
(chapter 73) In chapter 73, Joo Jaekyung is shown as a first-year high school student—meaning he was sixteen. I suspect this turning point occurred in May, since the earlier fight happened on May 16th. 
(chapter 72) Additionally, the tournament he won was the 17th boxing competition 
(chapter 73), suggesting he had likely participated from the very beginning of the event’s history. This places his debut—and symbolic birth as a fighter—at the very origin of the tournament itself.
(chapter 72) This becomes painfully clear in the call to his mother, when young Joo Jaekyung promises to become strong, 
(chapter 72) to earn a lot of money, 
(chapter 72) And now, you know why the man was left behind and not contacted. Joo Jaekyung seems to, from this moment onward, emotionally homeless, unaware that his attachment to his father is still existent. Moreover he is forgetting his friendship with Hwang Byungchul. His words don’t truly reflect reality.
(chapter 73), hence her face remains first hidden. This image represents a memory from Joo Jaewoong, I would even add, this is the last time he must have seen her before her vanishing.
(chapter 65) Unlike Kim Dan’s grandmother—who is shown gazing downward at the baby she holds, visibly burdened yet emotionally present—the champion’s mother stares straight ahead. 
(chapter 72) The use of “of course” suggests inevitability, even justification. He is siding with the mother. His explanation for her departure is the father’s behavior: his abusive attitude. 
(chapter 73) However, what remains unspoken in this sentence is that she did not just leave her husband—she left her son too. Hwang Byungchul fails to mention this because he, too, is a man who has lived alongside a woman without truly giving her an official recognition. His own mother lived in his shadow, cooking for fighters, breathing life and love into the studio, yet she remained unnamed. Like Jaekyung’s mother, she was reduced to a supportive function. The crucial difference is that Hwang’s mother lived through her son, and stayed until her death. 
(chapter 73) Thus I deduce that the champion’s mother had a different mind-set. Either she had to give up on her dreams because of her husband and the birth of her son or she desired to live through her husband’s success, though I am more opting for the first possibility. However, both ideas have one common denominator: the mother was dependent on the “husband”. 
(chapter 73) Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the man would avoid to meet his wife’s gaze and why the author hid Joo Jaekyung and his mother’s gaze in the last memory from Joo Jaewoong. Her gaze was for him painful, full of rejection. Consequently, I think that when Mingwa created this image for the champion’s birthday 
, she was revealing the arrival of the mother and her traits in her son: humbleness, water, darkness, a daring gaze and uncombed! But let’s return our attention to Joo Jaewoong and his vision: 
(chapter 73), cleaning the house. He felt like a kept man, emasculated by the very woman he expected to serve him. That’s why he says this to his son: 
(chapter 73) He is clinching onto this image as the breadwinner and head of family. Thus, this sentence “You are your mother’s son, after all” becomes not a factual statement, but a projection, meant to degrade both wife and son by branding them as disloyal, ungrateful, and disobedient.
(chapter 72) He desired to be greeted properly, to be recognized as the head of the family. However, this is how the loser’s mother acted, when he returned home. 
(chapter 73) He didn’t greet him either and avoided to talk to him (points of suspension). This could only infuriate Joo Jaewoong, as the latter felt as a failure and denial of being a husband and father. And now, you comprehend why I see this picture as the evidence 
It is no coincidence that the main lead has a similar vision than his own father about the mother.
(chapter 51) Lack of trust and faith from the champion and the doctor! Both didn’t truly talk to each other. Their relationship was based on silence, power and mistrust, thus both chose not to talk about the meeting with director Choi Gilseok. But since reality is complex, we have to envision that absence of recognition and gratitude played a huge role in their failure as well. Why did the director’s mother remain by her son’s side and support his dream? It is because she believed in him. She loved him unconditionally. Hence I am inclined to think that one of the causes for their marriage was the lack of trust in each other, for the affection was rather conditional. I am also suspecting that the woman was always excluded from important decisions as well. 
(chapter 55), but she gave him the necessary push to reconnect with doc Dan. 
(chapter 55) In this scene, 
(chapter 55) we can detect similarities with the former home from the main lead: 
(chapter 1) . And now, compare this to the 26-year-old champion standing beside his father. His face mirrors the father’s almost exactly (jaw,nose), except for the eyes. 
(chapter 72) That contrast is crucial. The difference lies not in bone structure, but in soul. And that difference, I argue, belongs to the mother. He is his mother’s child in spirit! However, with the loss of his father, the light in his light vanished. 
(chapter 72)
(chapter 73) However, like mentioned above, their toxic relationship played a role. Another is money. Observe how the the 10 years old boy added right after: 
(chapter 73) became his curse, as his dream had become a reality. 
(chapter 7) and possessiveness. 
(chapter 34) I had already portrayed the ghost as a person suffering from narcissistic personality disorder, and since the ghost shares common traits with the father, I am assuming that the father is the ghost. Jaewoong’s narcissism was not simply paternal in my opinion. 
(chapter 31) He didn’t support him to become independent professionally. That’s why I feel like the insecure boxer must have acted the same way, not allowing his wife to become successful in the end. 
(chapter 54) Is it a coincidence that in his nightmare, his loved one was looking back at him? No, the doctor was acting the opposite from the champion’s mother: 
(chapter 42) the jealous and regretful ex-lover told him otherwise. How did the father describe his son? 
(chapter 33) This chapter stands not only under the sign of jealousy, but also of motherhood due to the number 6. If this theory is correct, then it signifies that he kept his promise. He gave her a place, but he didn’t want to return to her side for two reasons: her abandonment and his guilt concerning the death of his father. As for the mother, I would say… out of guilt and shame due to her “pride”. She knows that she did hurt her son. Naturally, I could be wrong… but I hope if she is alive so that the champion can talk with his “mother”. This will help him to move on. Breaking the silence between them would put an end to his self-loathing and misery
(chapter 73), gradually fell into decline after the death of his mother. She had been its soul, offering invisible support, care, and emotional warmth to the fighters. 
(chapter 72) onto Shin Okja 
(chapter 61) due to her similarities in age, gender, gestures and words. However, he failed to detect her flaws, as he trusts seniors too much. I guess, it is related to Jaewoong’s death. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that doc Dan had become the soul of the gym: 
(chapter 26), but the latter was not recognized as a real member of Team Black. Besides, let’s not forget that he was only working for the champion and not Team Black!
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 73) They became heavy with grief. Yet in Kim Dan’s presence—through his care, his quiet resistance, and even his occasional clumsiness—Joo Jaekyung glimpsed something forgotten. He was able to laugh 
(chapter 26), to play, even to feel embarrassment—emotions far removed from the sterile discipline of professional sport. Through Doc Dan, the athlete briefly recovered his lost passion. Not just for boxing, but for being human.
(chapter 62) So far, doc Dan hasn’t heard what his fated partner did while waiting for his “return from work”.
(chapter 72) —and not with fists, but with fabric. 
(chapter 11) Each boy is introduced wearing a shirt adorned with a teddy bear, a symbol that quietly carries the emotional weight of the entire narrative. 
(chapter 11) [For more read 
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 66): a source of comfort, loyalty, and belonging. To follow the teddy bear is to trace this emotional path—from abandonment to connection, from injury to intimacy, from being held once to being held again. 
(chapter 47), and then claimed, just like his teddy bear. The fate of doc Dan’s toy bear reflects the boy’s. The former was pushed outside the embrace and bed before disappearing. 
(chapter 21) That’s how the toy bear vanished from the little boy’s life. Thus I deduce that the teddy bear on the pajamas was the last traces of his “childhood”.
To follow the teddy bear is to trace this journey back to tenderness: the long path from abandonment to being held again.
(chapter 72) The shirts are not only outgrown 
(chapter 72) but also replaced with t-shirts without any design alluding to the vanishing of their identity and forced maturity. 
(chapter 57) For Jaekyung, the beanie-wearing bear with its wounded arm and wise glasses is the last trace of comfort before reality hardens. What remains is not the child, but the instinct to survive. From the moment the bear vanishes, a new figure begins to emerge—not one held, but one who fights. The boy with the teddy bear becomes the man who can’t rest, who equates existence with usefulness, and usefulness with victory.
(Chapter 72) This episode doesn’t just show how Jaekyung became a self-made man 
(chapter 7) The cliché used by Park Namwook in chapter 7 is revealed to be not only ignorant, but cruel. Jaekyung had no home, no real guardian, no one to defend or guide him. He didn’t grow up in the wild—he grew up alone, navigating between violence (abuse and bullying), hunger, and neglect without true protection. This reframes the champion’s identity: not as someone untamable, but as someone who was never tamed because no one cared enough to try. What we witness is not savagery, but simple survival. Thus he had no friend. 
(chapter 71), performative masculinity and high expectations of Park Namwook, and the explosive violence of his father. 
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 5) His behaviors—his hot temper, cold demeanor, blunt speech, and instrumental approach to others—were not innate traits. They were learned strategies, adapted from men who had likewise buried their vulnerability beneath strength or stoicism or brutality. Hence he brought no present to the patient at the hospice. 
(chapter 71) He became a wolf because he was surrounded by wolves—but deep down, his true nature is closer to a cat’s. This contrast becomes visible in Chapter 72, where his external persona appears as a shy, quiet, more sensitive self. 
(Chapter 72) Much earlier, in the summer night’s dream (Chapter 44), Kim Dan sensed that hidden nature: not the predator, but the man longing to be held.
(Chapter 44) Doc Dan had sensed the real person behind the legend.
(chapter 45) and respects boundaries. He listens. 
(chapter 29) And so, like a child learning a new language, Jaekyung begins to mimic him too. 
(chapter 62) The change is gradual but visible: helping the townspeople, accepting rest, asking to stay close, even touching and speaking more gently. 
(chapter 71) With Kim Dan, the fighter who once only mirrored power begins to echo tenderness.
(chapter 62) 
(chapter 68). These are not just words—they’re the building blocks of intimacy, borrowed from the only person who ever saw through his armor. From mimicking strength, Jaekyung has begun to mimic care. 
(chapter 72) So he fed him. But he never saw the deeper hunger: the absence of love, of being wanted. The coach assumed the problem was solved with food—because he had never gone without care. 
(chapter 72) He lived with his mother. He was never truly alone. And so he projected stability onto the boy’s silence.
(Chapter 27) because the body, from the very start, was only a tool for survival.
(Chapter 72) Instead, he redirects the situation: 
(chapter 22) There is no joy in eating, no comfort at the table. His body becomes a tool, and pain becomes the currency he pays to keep it running.
(chapter 72) The expression (“But reality was like a punch to the gut”) suggests that even the coach himself was struck by how wrong or harsh the outcome turned out to be, but that realization came too late. Yet he blamed the young boy instead of convincing the young boy to postpone the fight. This scene shows that the man’s form of “help” was not rooted in empathy or protection—it was rooted in opportunity and perhaps even short-sighted hope for glory through the boy’s talent. He turned pain into performance.
(chapter 71) why Joo Jaekyung never visited him or expressed his gratitude towards the boxing coach more openly. 
(Chapter 71) He became successful thanks to his own hard work. It was, as if he had followed the advice to the letter—make it on your own. I am suspecting that the charity event is linked to poor neighborhoods and children, so he didn’t totally erase the man from his memory, he just repressed him. However, it is not astonishing why the director is resentful and even bitter towards Joo Jaekyung. It was, as if he had never helped him. While he blames the man, the coach never recognized his own shortcomings. He didn’t see that his assistance was actually conditional. 
(chapter 72) They are all rivals. But from my perspective, there exists another reason why the main lead didn’t keep in touch with Hwang Byungchul exposing the director’s blindness. The adult Joo Jaekyung admits that seeing the director’s face brings back “old memories”—not of comfort, but of trauma. 
(Chapter 71) The implication is unmistakable: Hwang Byungchul reminds him of his father and the abuse. And the latter is strongly intertwined with the mother’s abandonment.
(chapter 72) The other is Jaekyung himself. How can we tell? Because the scene of the phone call contains no narration, no framing voice. 
(Chapter 71) But here, doc Dan was making a huge mistake: he was just projecting his own feelings and relationship with him onto theirs. But he was behaving exactly like the former director: simplification. 
(chapter 61) In the panel where he sighs, “Haa… I have no idea what’s going on in that guy’s head,” he unintentionally exposes the shallowness of his approach. He imagines that by looking at Jaekyung’s brain—by cracking his psychology—he’ll “understand” him. That way, he can regain control. But this isn’t curiosity. It’s a veiled form of control-seeking. Namwook doesn’t want to know Jaekyung as a person—he wants him to be predictable, manageable, marketable. That line doesn’t reflect concern. It reflects frustration that the human being in front of him refuses to fit the role he’s been assigned. Hence it is logical that his solution to force Joo Jaekyung to return to the gym is to accept a new match. 
(chapter 65) Her mindset follows a consistent logic: one problem, one person, one solution. Kim Dan is overworked and sick? 
(chapter 65) Then someone stronger should carry him. That “someone” becomes Jaekyung. The doctor should take pills and that’s it.
(chapter 65) Her logic is deeply utilitarian—Jaekyung is rich, strong, and dependable. Therefore, he must be fine. She does not consider whether he is emotionally stable, available, or even willing to carry such a weight. The haunted look in his eyes that Hwang Byungchul noticed in Chapter 72 
(chapter 65) This is totally naive, because certain parents like Joo Jaewoong are not capable of offering love and support. In Chapter 57, when Kim Dan was a child, bullied and humiliated, she told him: “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You still have me.” 
(chapter 57) This line, though comforting on the surface, is an act of simplification. She makes herself the sole solution to Dan’s complex emotional wounds. Her message: You don’t need justice, friends, or understanding. You need me. That’s how doc Dan was taught not to argue and not to fight back. He just needed to accept the situation.
(chapter 65) she doesn’t know anything about his life. That’s the price of simplification: you get a clean answer, but not the truth.
(chapter 70) He judges him without knowing the circumstances. This projection is not new. In the past, he blamed the father, 
(chapter 17), it becomes clear that there exists a recurring link between athletic decline and criminal paths. The man fails to notice this connection. He sees these outcomes as individual moral failings, not systemic failures. 
(chapter 40) Kim Dan saw the result and got fascinated. And what we’re left with now is a man whose pain and exhaustion are almost unseen 
(chapter 64) He reproached him about being used and abandoned. But he was forgetting his own actions. He had also used the athlete, he had also left the bed in a hurry the next morning. Yes, he, too, simplified Jaekyung. That night, he said nothing. And in doing so, he confirmed the belief Jaekyung had internalized: I’m not someone who gets cared for. I’m someone who is tolerated, used, replaced. Like mentioned above, his mind-set was strongly influenced by Shin Okja. On the other hand, I noticed that the protagonist embodies complexity. How so? On the surface, he appears simple: obedient, quiet, weak, submissive, passive. 
(chapter 70) But beneath that surface lies a dense emotional world— love, grief, guilt, exhaustion, intelligence, empathy and moral clarity — that few characters in Jinx truly perceive. He stands for the heart! And everyone knows that “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” (Blaise Pascal) Because he acts from a place that defies the cold logic of power, hierarchy, and survival, he operates on emotional intelligence 
(chapter 71) —unspoken understanding, silent resistance, instinctive empathy. It’s no coincidence that his presence disrupts every system he enters: the gym, the hospital, the champion’s life.
(chapter 70), and starts being a person. The racing heart… which has already happened. And this observation leads me to this scene: 
(chapter 58) Kim Dan was erasing this memory, he wanted to forget the star The Emperor. This act of forgetting wasn’t an escape from pain; it’s an active rejection of a myth that was keeping him emotionally paralyzed. As long as Jaekyung remained “The Emperor,” he could not be touched, questioned, or truly known. By forcing himself to forget that image, Kim Dan was making space for something more vulnerable and human to emerge. To conclude, thanks to this painful decision, he was able to perceive Joo Jaekyung the man. That’s why he acted so fiercely in front of him later. So by meeting the director, doc Dan is now able to see the child or the “cat” in his fated partner. That’s how it dawned on me why Mingwa let doc Dan suffer from addiction, depression and insomnia. Because these afflictions defy simplification. They resist instant solutions (pills). They demand patience, presence, and a refusal to look away.
(chapter 72), his bruises 
(chapter 72) and asked for his name. This exposes his priorities and his blindness. He didn’t truly perceive the child in him, he was seeing him through the lenses of a boxer and director. Hence he underestimated the absence and abandonment of the mother. 
(chapter 21) Unlike Kim Dan, who grew up falling asleep next to his grandmother, accustomed to someone sharing his blanket, Jaekyung was emotionally and physically on his own from the start. Moreover, observe that the little boy had toys 
(chapter 53) He is a physical therapist. He had also arranged his books together: 
(chapter 53) And what did the hamster think while gathering his belongings? 
(chapter 53) So I deduce that the woman left them behind because she didn’t need them, she had enough or she no longer cared. But there is more to it!
(chapter 72), there are parcels stacked on the commode and table—some of them are wrapped and seemingly untouched. Their presence is striking. Unlike the strewn bottles and plastic bags, these boxes don’t speak of decay, but of intention. They hint at a moment when someone had plans—however fleeting. And yet, their sealed state raises unsettling questions: Who were these parcels for? And why were they never opened?
(chapter 27) There are no toys, no supplies for a child—just quiet evidence of a woman focused on herself, her escape perhaps already underway.
(chapter 53) The jacket… Because of these parallels, I come to develop the following theory. Joo Jaekyung knew his age, because he had just celebrated his birthday. This scene definitely took place in the summer. 
(chapter 53) must have triggered the champion’s abandonment issues. He had the impression to relive the past. The mother had left him behind in the dark unexpectedly.
(chapter 45) And now, you comprehend why I wrote above that I was not giving up on the idea that the champion could belong to a different world too. She was not accustomed to take care of a household. She wasn’t used to cook either. She would order food, hence we have the empty bowls. 
(chapter 72) Remember how the champion reacted, when he tasted his cooking for the first time? 
(chapter 22) He feared deception here, a sign that he must have experienced such a lie before. For me, everything is pointing out that this woman was incapable of becoming responsible for her own child. She left quietly and early enough that even Hwang Byungchul, who knew of her departure, didn’t recognize the boy 
(chapter 72). In other words, the mother was already emotionally absent long before she physically vanished. The bandaged bear thus becomes a silent accusation: you saw, and you left. Therefore it is not astonishing that Joo Jaekyung made such a mistake: 
(chapter 68) His mistakes concerning doc Dan are the evidences that he was not taught how to take care of someone. His errors indicates his innocence and purity.
(chapter 44) before he was abandoned. Jaekyung was never treated properly before. He was not claimed at all. It is important because the champion mentioned the word “home” 
(chapter 43) for the first time shortly after receiving a mysterious phone call. 
(chapter 43) And it is linked to his birthday. This resembles a lot to this scene: 
(chapter 37) 
(chapter 49) Is it the mother or someone acting as an invisible guardian who knows the champion’s past? What do you think?
(chapter 72) Joo Jaewoong—whose name literally evokes the bear (웅, 雄 or 熊)—was not a gentle protector, but a violent alcoholic and drug addicted, a man who “strayed from the straight and narrow” 
(chapter 54) —Team Black—bears symbolic weight. Unlike other athletes who proudly attach their names to their legacy, Joo Jaekyung avoids personal branding. He doesn’t call it “Jaekyung’s Gym” or “Joo Athletics.” Instead, he opts for anonymity, for darkness. It’s as if he’s building a fortress rather than a legacy, a space that offers power and protection, but no trace of where he came from.
(chapter 71) I am quite certain that her vanishing must have pained him. She embodies the only good motherly role model in his life which explains why Joo JAekyung has a soft heart for Shin Okja. He knew to speak prettily and gently because of her. It is clear that the director influenced his dream, creating a gym where his mother would be part of it. 
(chapter 47) and denial for strength 
(chapter 61), Park Namwook 
(chapter 53) all operate within survival mechanisms shaped by trauma, guilt, and fear. They choose the illusion of control or calm over genuine healing. But as the story unfolds, these strategies begin to unravel. Each character must confront the truth behind their emotional habits, learning that happiness isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the result of confronting it with clarity and purpose. 
(chapter 54), Joo Jaekyung is cornered by a faceless, overpowering ghost. He is unable to fight or flee; only obedience and silence remain. 
(chapter 14) But ironically, he became exactly what the abuser desired: a powerful, obedient puppet. His fame, discipline, and aggression were not signs of freedom, but evidences of emotional and mental captivity. That’s why the past from the champion is surrounded by darkness and mystery.
(chapter 36) His language was dominance, not dialogue. He didn’t process his emotions through words—he suppressed them, until they erupted in violence or withdrawal. 
(chapter 34) 
(chapter 1) Thus for the first time, Jaekyung had to develop a new strategy in order to meet him again: one that doesn’t rely on intimidation, but on communication. The problem is that since he saw the physical therapist running away after their first session 
(chapter 1), he knew that he needed to lure him with something: money 
(chapter 1). Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete played a trick on the phone, though we have to envision that here the celebrity’s thoughts were strongly influenced by his bias and prejudices. He imagined that Doc Dan had made a move on him.
(chapter 5) That retreat doesn’t mean failure—it can be an act of self-preservation. However, the champion experienced that he needed to speak with doc Dan in order to keep him by his side. This lesson became a turning point. Jaekyung started to speak more. 
(chapter 18) Therefore it is no coincidence that in episode 18, right after the celebrity spoke, Kim Dan’s reply was strongly intertwined with flight: 
(chapter 18) The denial of kindness from the champion made the doctor uncomfortable, the latter felt the need to leave the penthouse as soon as possible. The lesson for the star was to realize that words are powerful and can affect people. But Joo Jaekyung didn’t grasp it, as he chose to use sex to „submit“ his fated partner. 
(Chapter 18) Nevertheless, as time passes on, the wolf asks more and more questions. He reacts to emotional discomfort not only with physicality but with hesitation, introspection. He is no longer reacting as the ghost once taught him; he is arguing and as such adapting, growing. Thus we could say, he is less passive.
(chapter 3) or table, in showers 
(chapter 7), against doors, or walls 
(chapter 34). On the surface, it may seem like a gesture of dominance or desire, but symbolically, it reflects silencing.
(chapter 51) They stand in the middle of the room—an open space—symbolizing emotional emancipation. When Dan questions the celebrity 
(chapter 51). The latter tries to reassert control 
(chapter 51), but this time, when he lashes out, he is the one who leaves. This is cognitive dissonance at work: the fighter cannot reconcile his fear of vulnerability with his emerging need for connection and his perfectionism. So he defaults to a performance of control, even as he runs from it. And while one might mistake this for weakness or regression, it actually displays a progression. First, Jaekyung had finally revealed his thoughts and fears to Dan. 
(chapter 69) That silence could easily be mistaken for submission, for the same old performance of the compliant athlete. 
(chapter 69) But that would be a misreading. His silence is no longer a symptom of fear or control. It is a deliberate withholding—a sign that he no longer plays by their emotional rules. He is starting distancing himself from MFC, Park Namwook and the fight-centered identity they crafted for him.
(chapter 69) After all, to those still invested in dominance hierarchies, leaving the capital after a public defeat seems like the behavior of someone who’s been defeated mentally as well. But the truth is the opposite. This “retreat” is actually an act of autonomy. For the first time, Jaekyung is giving himself space—not to run, but to reflect. 
(chapter 69) He is no longer blindly performing the role of the fighter, nor desperately trying to maintain control over the narrative. 
(chapter 69) He is beginning to think critically about his past behavior, his future, and the systems that have defined his identity and life.
(chapter 69) with “no audience” (he ignores people), no pressure, no script. And in that openness, he lets go—not just physically, but psychologically. 
(chapter 69) The hug marks the collapse of his old beliefs: that emotions are weaknesses, that silence is protection, that strength means standing alone. He is no longer trying to dominate Dan or prove anything. He’s not cornering or fleeing. He’s simply staying—with someone, and with himself.
(chapter 36), or MFC’s decisions. 
(chapter 25: here the protagonist was replacing Yosep and Park Namwook), hires professionals to manage damage 
(chapter 47), and hides behind administrative actions. 
(chapter 66) But he never takes full responsibility. This blame-displacement strategy works—until the champion flees to the West Coast. 
(chapter 66) that cornered the manager. 
(chapter 66) As long as the champion was nearby, Park Namwook could project blame onto him, framing him as unstable, disobedient, or temperamental. But once „his boy“ vanished from Seoul, the hyung was left exposed. Striking is that he is not seen watching over the training of the remaining members. 
(chapter 60) 
(chapter 60), a sign that he is neglecting the other members. The absence of his star fighter removed his most convenient scapegoat, forcing him to face the consequences of his own mismanagement—though he is not yet ready to truly question it and change his mindset, denial, and dependency. This was not just a geographical disappearance—it was a strategic psychological rupture, meant to destabilize Park’s illusion of authority.
(chapter 47) Finally, he can testify not only as a fighter, but as a representative of the institution they tried to exploit. That elevates his voice: from a disposable athlete to a legal opponent with organizational standing.
(chapter 1), deflecting, and disappearing became natural. With the grandmother, with doctors 
(chapter 1), with institutions—he obeyed. He accepted his fate as a fatality. But with Jaekyung, a new pattern emerged. Slowly, he began to resist: he set boundaries, raised his voice, argued with his boss, even used physical gestures to assert himself. 
(chapter 7) For a moment, he was fighting.
(chapter 67) Moreover, in contrast to Season 1, Kim Dan is no longer the invisible caregiver or obedient grandson. Thanks to Joo Jaekyung’s presence—disruptive and painful as it was—he began to form an independent identity
(chapter 57), one no longer shaped entirely by duty or guilt. The grandmother, however, is blind to this change. She continues to speak to him as if he’s the same self-sacrificing boy 
(chapter 65) who followed orders quietly and centered his life around pleasing others. Her suggestion that he “returns to Seoul” assumes he still views that as his place. But Dan refuses.
(chapter 57) —it is a rejection of the belief that he exists only to serve. In Season 2, Dan says “no” repeatedly:
(chapter 60) 
(chapter 67)
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 57)
(chapter 65) She uses his past flaws to outline his immaturity and need of guidance. However, she is not taking into consideration the transformation in the doctor due to the recent incidents (switched spray). He is no longer the same than he was 6 months ago or 2 years old. He changed thanks to the athlete and because of unfortunate events (sexual harassment from the hospital director, switched spray). But the halmoni has no idea about such incidents. 
(chapter 53) Unlike Park Namwook who uses blame and delegation in professional settings, she applies emotional avoidance in private and familial spaces. Much like the manager, she outsources responsibility, asking others to step in 
(chapter 53) 
(chapter 5) Her illness becomes a metaphor for her mindset. She relies on external systems: her grandson 
(chapter 7), medication, comfort 
(chapter 21), and other people (nurse, Joo Jaekyung) —to maintain her emotional balance. But as doc Dan himself once observed, she is ultimately on her own in her battle. No system can fight it for her.
(chapter 7) His grandmother was not truly abandoned; she simply equated his physical absence with neglect, ignoring the emotional and financial burden he already carried. Like Park Namwook, she prefers others to carry the discomfort while maintaining a façade of suffering and sacrifice. 
(chapter 47) , and her narrative of selflessness becomes another form of emotional pressure. She does not yell, she does not accuse directly, but her avoidance is equally powerful in shaping Dan’s self-image as a burden. Doc Dan came to internalize that she suffered because of him.
(chapter 5) Hence he made sure to shield her from any pain. 
(chapter 65), protected, comforted. Surrounded by nurses, medication, and routine, she finds temporary peace in an environment that simulates safety. The hospice does not cure her illness, but it cushions it. This illusion allows her to smile again, to relax—but only up to a point. Kim Dan’s gradual deterioration 
(chapter 57) —his visible exhaustion, disconnection, and quiet suffering—becomes a thorn in her eye, a reminder that her peace is not whole. As long as he suffers, she cannot entirely escape the shadow of her own regrets. Sending him away to Seoul represents a new of flight. Out of sight means out of mind. That way the grandmother wouldn‘t have to worry about doc Dan, as he has been entrusted to the athlete. 
(chapter 163) and supported by the article on confirmation bias, human survival was deeply dependent on mental shortcuts. Biases were not flaws, but adaptive tools — heuristics that helped our ancestors make quick decisions under threat. Faced with a potential predator, they could not afford the luxury of curiosity or debate. Run first, think later. 
(chapter 163) In this sense, biases were effective precisely because they increased the chance of survival.
(chapter 41) he recommends the opposite at the restaurant because the idea comes from the CEO! 
(chapter 67) His survival bias told him: “Don’t trust a man who once treated you violently.” or “Doctors are ignorant, they don’t know me“. It was easier to discredit the source than to weigh the merit of the message. Likewise, in Season 1, the champion dismissed doc Dan’s medical opinions 
(chapter 40) who needs to fight to prove himself, yet likely doesn’t treat his own family this way. 
(chapter 45) His double standard is not conscious hypocrisy — it’s a form of selective laziness. He does not challenge his beliefs because doing so would unravel the identity he’s built as a competent, authoritative manager.
(chapter 65) or a support network. It is not her fault, if she never met doc Dan’s friends in the past while hiding the fact that he had been bullied by his peers. Her request for him to return to Seoul, a place he has no roots, only furthers his habit of isolation. Similarly, when she asked Jaekyung to bring him to Seoul and have him diagnosed, she implicitly discouraged any shared decision-making. Like Park Namwook, she bypassed dialogue in favor of directive control, reinforcing the habit of emotional withdrawal.
(chapter 67) That shift marks a turning point from survival to conscious thought. The mind cannot reflect when it believes it is under attack. The tragedy is not that these characters are irrational — it’s that they were taught fear before they were taught trust. Thus I come to the following conclusion. As soon as both are curious about each other 
(chapter 69), they are now free from their bias and prejudices. 
(chapter 69) They will be able to communicate which will help them to discover the truth about MFC. Yes, their ability to ponder will lead them to unmask the villains and defeat their opponents. By fighting for justice, both will discover true peace of mind. This hardship at the end of season 1 was necessary to reset their heart and mind: what is the true meaning of life? Money? Work? Duty? Sacrifice?… The answer is happiness which is strongly intertwined with love and selflessness. 
(chapter 32) Yet upon closer inspection, certain oddities stood out to me. 
(chapter 43) In that scene, Kim Dan poured soju into his water cup to pace himself during a drinking session. 
(chapter 43) Joo Jaekyung, unaware, mistakes it for his own and angrily reacts upon drinking it. This moment shows how closely water glasses are associated with Korean dining culture—even in casual or alcohol-heavy settings. Hence during a meal, the characters always have 
(chapter 32) two glasses on the table. In South Korea, it is customary for restaurants to provide a glass of water to every diner, regardless of the meal’s formality or complexity. This small gesture reflects hospitality, attentiveness, and the expectation of proper nourishment. The absence of water glasses, therefore, subtly communicates indifference or even disrespect—signaling that the recipient is not truly welcome to enjoy a full meal or rest. When applied to the “dessert meeting,” this detail becomes all the more striking: a cultural standard is ignored, revealing the performative nature of the gesture. Their absence at the “dessert meeting” feels deliberate, a symbol of superficiality and arrogance. 
(chapter 43) The reason for his mistake was that they had only placed a spoon and sticks.😮 He had no glass for himself. It was, as if they had forgotten him. In other words, he was not supposed to eat and drink at his own birthday party!! 😂 
(chapter 9) It reflects a pattern: the champion is present but not included in the communal or emotional aspects of the gathering. His spoon and chopsticks function like a prop, much like the untouched knives and forks at the dessert meeting. 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 48), the meeting between Choi Gilseok and Kim Dan. The former invited him for coffee. 
(chapted 48) At first, the gesture seemed generous—he offers a home, a car, 
(chapter 48) and the promise to help doc Dan to get a new treatment for the grandmother. 
(chapter 48) But this so-called kindness is conditional: in exchange, Kim Dan must betray Joo Jaekyung. Striking is that director Choi only ordered coffee. But a coffee without a dessert is no real break, but a stimulant—fuel for continued work. In both this meeting and the previous one with Choi Gilseok, the core remains the same: “work”, stinginess and greed wrapped in the guise of generosity. Every sweet drink or dessert lies a hidden price. This comparison highlights that the current meeting is not for the athlete’s sake—it is meant to serve Park Namwook and the CEO, who share different but aligned goals.
(chapter 66) linked to fire, summer (hence the reference to the trip in the States), passion, performance, and vitality—ironically twisted here into cold professionalism and superficial seduction. Her position contrasts with her symbolic warmth, highlighting the emptiness of her care. This explains why she is portrayed eyeless. She sold her “soul” to money and as such to the “devil”.
(chapter 69) wearing black, aligns with the North (흑, Heuk), associated with the color black, winter, water, authority, secrecy, and hidden control. It was, as if he was representing the missing glass of water. His position as the initiator of the meeting and his location near the window reinforce his dominance and detachment.
(chapter 37) Now, Joo Jaekyung mirrors this casual dark attire 
(chapter 69) —a signal of inner turmoil and his transition from his former life. Blue stands for loyalty, thought, and calm, while black alludes to his troubled past. He is evolving but not yet free.
(chapter 69) the strawberry fraisier (chosen by the woman) stands for surface sweetness and seduction; the layered chocolate cake (perhaps a feuilleté) represents indulgence and opulence. Joo Jaekyung alone chose a square Black Forest cake—a form traditionally associated with structure, truth, and boundaries. Because the cake contains kirschwasser, subtly referencing the athlete’s brief brush with alcohol, it becomes clear that Park Namwook was not the one behind this order. Imagine this: under his very own eyes, the champion is encouraged to taste a strong alcohol. In my opinion, they must know that the star has been drinking. Yet, it was through Kim Dan’s presence that he stopped drinking, making this dessert an unconscious mirror of both his struggle and strength. Meanwhile, Park Namwook, ever the follower, selects the same dessert as the CEO and the same drink as the woman, revealing his pretense and pastiche once more. Since the manager has always bought junk food (chicken
– chapter 26, hamburgers, ramen 
– episode 37), it becomes clear that the hyung simply has no idea about Western food in general and in particular expensive French or German dishes. That’s why he didn’t ask about the dish or questioned the champion if he should eat the deadly sweet cake. 
(chapter 22)
(chapter 48), their meeting was not supposed to be secretive. On the other hand, because the scene was photographed 
(chapter 48), it created the illusion of “betrayal” as it looked like a secret meeting”. In episode 69, the meeting is hidden from the public. In contrast to the earlier public appearance alongside Baek Junmin for the cameras
(chapter 69) This framing is deceptive: far from being a gesture of goodwill, it reveals the urgency and opportunism driving the meeting. However, this gesture is carefully staged: the CEO and the woman in red are the ones who selected the time and location of the encounter, placing the athlete in a reactive position where he must adjust his schedule to their convenience. It reinforces the illusion of privilege while concealing a dynamic of control. The meeting is designed to appear personalized, but it reflects MFC’s ethos that ‘time is money’—a business-centered logic that prioritizes efficiency over empathy. The CEO’s urgency to schedule a match, despite Jaekyung’s unclear health status, further exposes the commodification of the athlete. Notably, the proposed match is not even a title bout. 
(chapter 69), hence the “future match” is no longer a secret. 
(chapter 37) In other words, she is trying to place the mastermind in South Korea. 
(chapter 42), it dawned on me that MFC is actually treating the Emperor like a “cash cow”, they imagine that they can keep milking him. I could say, this encounter is exposing the reality to the athlete: Joo Jaekyung is treated like any other fighter. Hence there is no longer mention of Baek Junmin in the news. On the other hand, they have to vouch for Baek Junmin’s integrity 
(chapter 69) So Joo JAekyung is more than a fighter and the apology (interrupted by the manager) is the evidence for this. Under this new light, Jinx-philes can understand Park Namwook’s interruption and embarassement. Not only he doesn‘t want to be reminded of his past mistakes (passivity, failure of his job, the slap), but also this apology serves as a mirror and reminder that he is not the true owner of the gym. 
(chapter 69) He is his unseen savior. Thanks to Kim Dan, the star remained silent and calm giving the impression that he had fallen for MFC’s trick. 
(chapter 40) This echoes Kim Dan’s confusion in Chapter 40 when interrogated in English. It also conveniently hides their ties to local authorities—acting as foreigners with no responsibility or rootedness in Korea. But this is what director Choi Gilseok confessed to the angel: 
(chapter 48) The business is rooted in the USA. 
(chapter 40), effectively opening the metaphorical door to truth and protection. In this meeting, however, Park Namwook serves to contain and silence, not to defend. His placement underscores his complicity and fear—not just of the CEO or MFC, but of confronting the consequences of his own failures. But the manager is on his way for a rude awakening, he will be taught a lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. The athlete won’t be the depressed, anxious, submissive and passive “boy” any longer. Moreover, he listened carefully to the chief of security: 
(chapter 69) It is Kim Dan.
(chapter 69) he leaves during the day and arrives by night. 
(chapter 69) This spatial detachment echoes his emotional separation from MFC and its toxic grip. Distance, both literal and figurative, is now his strength. The fact that he chose to return to the little town outlines that he is now considering that place as his “home” and not the penthouse. He is not realizing that his true home is doc Dan. 
(chapter 32) During Kim Dan’s lunch with Choi Heesung, the floor beneath their round table shows a twelve-petal flower motif—evocative of the legendary Knights of the Round Table, who were said to sit twelve strong. That earlier scene featured Heesung testing Dan, much like the fake round table later hosts a veiled test for Joo Jaekyung. The repetition of round tables masks exclusion and betrayal. These early “false” tables pave the way for a true table—one that Jaekyung might one day forge with fighters like Heesung, Potato, Oh Daehyun, and others, where loyalty and respect, not manipulation, define the bond.
(chapter 67): the brief diagnosis, the recommendation for weekly visits, the specialist’s tentative attribution of Kim Dan’s condition to either alcohol or a possible psychological cause, emphasizing the need for continued observation and weekly visits before offering a definitive diagnosis —all standard responses. For her, this was a doctor following routine procedure without overstepping professional boundaries. However, I perceived her behavior very differently. I saw someone who remained emotionally detached and almost absent, reducing the complexity of Kim Dan’s condition to simplistic surface-level causes without genuine inquiry.
(chapter 67) Rather than forming an independent assessment, she accepts the narrative of a third party, which introduces bias and limits her understanding. One might argue about that, because she is looking at a paper, probably result of a blood test which seems to corroborate the guardian’s statement. Hence the sleep specialist concludes that Kim Dan is suffering from insomnia, alcohol addiction and sleepwalking. The problem is that his statement is based on external observations (halmoni and the landlord) and their limited knowledge. Moreover, Jinx-philes should keep in mind two important aspects: 
(chapter 61) The champion had been himself suffering from similar symptoms which could be seen as a projection on his loved one. Additionally, based on previous observations, I have interpreted Kim Dan’s nightly walks not merely as sleepwalking, but as dissociative episodes—likely triggered by overwhelming guilt, unresolved trauma, and a chronic sense of disconnection from his body and surroundings. But how could the champion know about this? He’s not a doctor himself. In order to have a more accurate picture of the whole situation, she should have talked to the patient himself. But by relying on papers and the guardian’s testimony, she not only distances herself from the patient physically and emotionally, but also delegates the responsibility of interpretation. She is using the eyes of others.
(chapter 57) Perhaps the doctor’s detachment is not indifference, but a survival mechanism in a healthcare system that demands efficiency over intimacy.
(chapter 67) indicating that his alcohol addiction is not the real reason for his insomnia. Then she fails to examine Kim Dan physically, the desk is between them. Therefore she can not detect his visible malnourishment. 
(chapter 62) Moreover, both the landlord and the grandmother never brought up this aspect, though Shin Okja had observed this terrible transformation: 
(chapter 66) It is because the physical therapist is just a number (2) and as such a file. Therefore the doctor is not seeing the patient as a human. I can not blame the woman either, for she has so many patients to treat during the day. And now look at the building of the hospital: 
(chapter 66). It is huge reminding me of a factory. This “modern hospital” with its sleek architecture, expansive buildings, and impressive specialization exudes a sense of advancement and trustworthiness. Yet beneath this polished surface lies a business-oriented structure, one that prizes efficiency, reputation, and patient turnover over genuine patient connection. This “modern hospital” 
(chapter 67) She is doing exactly what Shin Okja wanted: 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 5) with the new medicine. On the other hand, it implies that the light-brown haired woman is doing her job for her paycheck which reminds me of Cheolmin’s statement: 
(chapter 13): “Oh no, no. That won’t do. My precious paycheck!”.
(chapter 27) 
(chapter 49) as mere service providers. Whether it was brushing off medical advice with “Don’t push it, I know my body better than anyone else” (chapter 27) or demanding instant pain relief to continue training (chapter 49), the champion positioned himself as the ultimate authority over his own treatment. Since his attitude echoed the confession of my osteopath, it is understandable why my osteopath-orthopedist began to select his patients carefully. This mirrors Kim Dan’s evolution, when the latter chose to reject the champion’s offer. Indirectly, he is “learning” to select his job and not take them by opportunism. He is also learning to select his “patients”. Striking is that Shin Okja has a similar attitude than the athlete. 
(chapter 7) She desired to have a treatment with less side effects and less painful. And the moment she was confronted with reality, this painful new treatment only brought pain and nothing more, she chose to leave this institution and move elsewhere. 
(chapter 67) He felt misjudged and misunderstood; reduced to a file number, not seen as a complex human being.
(chapter 67) and second, what Kim Dan actually received as treatment: 
(chapter 13), in contrast, enters the story with no white coat at all. He carries only a doctor’s bag, dressed in a green pullover and a beige checkered shirt. 
(chapter 13) Despite this informal attire, he immediately recognizes Kim Dan’s symptoms and engages both the guardian and the patient. He doesn’t need institutional support to assert authority; his presence and diagnostic clarity define him. While his clothes might elsewhere be read as conservative or emotionally restrained, here they highlight that care can come outside rigid systems. 
(chapter 13) It bridges the gap between roles, making the patient feel seen rather than categorized. 
There’s no judgement in their relationship. The eyeless doctor may appear neutral, but in truth, she is hollow. Cheolmin appears reserved, yet his actions speak with empathy. Where she recites guidelines, he initiates dialogue. 
(chapter 13) Where she avoids involvement, he offers engagement. 
(chapter 61) 
(chapter 67), the Light of Hope hospice 
(chapter 61), the sleek University hospital dedicated to research 
(chapter 5), and more intimate yet modern facilities like this one.
(Chapter 27) Each medical setting not only has its own architecture but also its own moral blueprint. In the essay “
(chapter 21) Then the treatment’s failure is attributed either to the grandmother’s frailty or Kim Dan’s late arrival and absence, subtly shifting blame. 
(chapter 56) It appears as “pain killers”. Her open white coat
(chapter 48) got aware of Shin Okja’s conditions, implying that patient confidentiality had been breached. 
(chapter 61) represents the polished face of a business-oriented clinic. While his office projects sleekness and personalized care, his comments betray his priorities. He praises Joo Jaekyung’s fame and urges a return to the ring—not out of medical concern, but because it would guarantee the champion’s return as a paying patient. He wants to retain a high-profile client. His friendliness is strategic. 
(chapter 61), highlighting that the athlete has become aware of what genuine care should look like. When the champion calmly declares, “I’ll be receiving rehabilitation services in another hospital,” Junmin answers with a stunned “Sorry?”. But this is not confusion. It’s a reflexive mask for shock. He did not expect to lose control of the situation. Beneath that one-word response lies disbelief, disappointment, and veiled panic. He’s losing a lucrative patient—and more importantly, a public endorsement. The moment exposes how fragile his authority truly is when faced with a patient asserting autonomy. Let’s not forget that when the champion was facing a mental and emotional breakdown, the latter offered no other support than “rest”. He even avoided his gaze.
(chapter 54) The athlete was left on his own. 
(Chapter 59): At first glance, the hospice appears to be underfunded and outdated. 
(chapter 61) However, its director breaks expectations. Unlike the smooth-talking or indifferent doctors at larger institutions, he is directly involved in patient care. 
(chapter 60), criticizes people for their rude behavior 
(chapter 59) or actively disciplines staff 
(chapter 59) when mistakes are made. Though he also flatters the champion 
(chapter 61) and sees promotional potential, he never exploits patients. 
(chapter 61) The juxtaposition of humility and responsibility in his demeanor, combined with his stunned reactions to sudden events, suggests an overworked and understaffed environment—but not one without moral grounding. His white coat and blue medical uniform echo the nurses’ attire, subtly promoting a sense of equity among staff. Despite being a director, he doesn’t separate himself from frontline caregivers. His uniform also contrasts with the green worn by Kim Miseon or Park Miseon, suggesting a focus on practical responsibility over prestige. By blending in with the team, he fosters a culture of shared accountability, not rigid hierarchy. Among all institutional figures, he comes closest to balancing authority with integrity. 
(Chapter 6): While this figure appears authoritative
(chapter 1), the details of his attire tell another story. Wearing a suit beneath his coat implies professionalism, but here it also suggests a business-driven mindset. The coat becomes a sleek outer layer masking deeper intentions. His charming demeanor conceals a more sinister reality—he weaponizes authority for personal gain. His use of professional attire isn’t about respectability but manipulation. Beneath the surface, profit, control, and coercion drive his actions. 
(chapter 1) The white coat, in his case, is not a symbol of healing but a façade for exploitation. drives his authority. The coat becomes a literal cover for abuse—harassment disguised under professionalism. His entire persona is a façade: calculated, charming on the surface, but predatory and morally bankrupt beneath.
(chapter 27) His gray shirt signals a more relaxed approach, 
(chapter 27) and his facial expression conveys a certain empathy—though his words also betray resignation. He sits beside the patient, not opposite, visually erasing the typical hierarchical divide between doctor and athlete. His recommendation that Joo Jaekyung rest is gently delivered, but he knows it will likely be ignored. He represents the tension between medical idealism and the pressures of athletic performance. He is trying his best to protect Joo Jaekyung’s career. 
(chapter 13) Finally, Cheolmin exists outside the hospital system. He wears no white coat, but his behavior mirrors a true physician’s. He diagnoses accurately, gives immediate advice, and engages both patient and guardian. His attire—a shirt layered under another—might suggest emotional restraint, but it doesn’t interfere with his actions. He jokes and teases, breaking through tension and inviting trust. He acts not because protocol demands it, but because someone needs help. That’s enough.
(chapter 41) nature is neatly confined. Rooftop gardens and structured greenery exist, but more as visual accessories than lived environments. The hospital is a towering research center, representing scientific advancement—but also bureaucratic coldness. Here, nature exists to impress, not to comfort. This artificial balance between concrete and green reflects a clinical detachment: nature is curated, not embraced. It aligns perfectly with Kim Miseon’s demeanor—professional, pristine, but ultimately distant and ambition-driven.the environment feels controlled. 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 54) where Joo Jaekyung receives treatment, the rooftop greenery appears remote and ornamental, disconnected from patient care. 
(chapter 18) modern, and set among scattered trees. 
(chapter 18) Large windows suggest openness and transparency—the very qualities Dr. Lee brings to his interaction. This is a space that, while modest, is genuinely attentive. Here, nature doesn’t impress, it is integrated in the landscape. The park is not surrounded by huge buildings. 
(chapter 65) nestled in the countryside and far from institutional rigidity, emerges as a space of true potential. In returning there, Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan are not just escaping their past—they are moving toward a form of healing that modern hospitals imitate but rarely achieve. Closer to nature, they are closer to themselves. If hospitals imitate forests, the village becomes the forest. And in that simplicity, Jinx suggests, real happiness might grow.
(chapter 57) It lives where no one is watching and no one is billing. In Jinx, the real medicine lies outside the chart—in the dirt on borrowed floral pants, in sweat earned under open skies. Nature becomes the unspoken vow that systems forgot.
(chapter 5) his reliance on routine. Yet there is another jinx in this story, one far less visible and perhaps even more tragic: Kim Dan’s.
(chapter 1) was seen as the core expression of a man who believed he was doomed.
(chapter 56) In Chapter 56, Kim Dan is seen curled up next to a bed, whispering: “I’m scared… of being alone.” What makes this moment especially revealing is that he is not physically alone, for he is resting next to his grandmother. The presence of the very person who raised him should, in theory, offer comfort. And yet, the fear persists.
(chapter 21) It weaves together absence, silence, and the specter of loss. What’s striking is that the nightmare surfaces, not when he’s alone in the present, but after he has just returned from watching over his hospitalized grandmother. 
(chapter 21) He lies on the couch and dreams of a night when she vanished from their shared bed. 
(chapter 21) This reveals how, in Kim Dan’s subconscious, the night and an empty bed have become synonymous with death. The trauma is deeply embedded, where even temporary absence is tied to the irreversibility of loss. For Kim Dan, solitude at night 
(chapter 67) is not mere loneliness—it is abandonment, it is death, it is the erasure of home. It is repressed, hidden beneath his quiet demeanor and years of survival-based behavior. Rather than a rational belief, it is a subconscious wound that only surfaces in moments of extreme vulnerability—especially at night. 
(chapter 2), the doctor’s is secret and involuntary. His actions—his fearful expressions 
(chapter 57), his pattern of emotional detachment 
(chapter 67), and his obsessive loyalty to his grandmother 
(chapter 10) signal a suppressed conviction: that he is destined to be left behind. What seemed like devotion now appears as coping; what appeared stoic was survival. And with the impending death of his grandmother, the anchor holding this hidden jinx in place is slipping away.
(chapter 2), the trembling kiss 
(chapter 44) in Chapter 44, the complete breakdown 
(chapter 66) in Chapter 66, or the transactional submission 
(chapter 67) in Chapter 67, nighttime becomes the stage for his unresolved trauma. These nights mirror one another and suggest an origin story that predates them all: a night when Kim Dan was abandoned by his mother.
(chapter 57) A puppy needs at least eight weeks with its mother to grow emotionally secure. By drawing this parallel 
(chapter 59), the story tells us: Kim Dan was separated too soon. He was not ready.
(chapter 53)
(chapter 65) One might argue about this, for in this scene, 
(Chapter 56) he tucks her in. Their roles are reversed. He behaves like a parent, whereas in truth, he is reverting emotionally to a child terrified of being alone. This reversal highlights the internal dissonance between his outward behavior and emotional reality. Though he was forced to grow up quickly 
(chapter 65), he still carries the emotional wounds of a child. And from my point of view, the grandmother knows it, therefore she treats him as a child. And this observation led me to the following question: why does she still view him as a “boy”, though he has been working since his youth? It is because he can not sleep alone! What caught my attention is that she never stated, when the doctor started smoking or drinking. 
(chapter 56) Imagine what it means for her: her grandson is already 29 years old and he can not sleep alone. Under this perspective, Jinx-philes can grasp the relative’s reasoning. The problem is that her knowledge is actually wrong! How so? It is because the protagonist was able to sleep so well alone in the penthouse, to the point that the athlete was envious of him. 
(chapter 29) That’s how it dawned on me why Shin Okja was so determined to send back her grandson to Seoul.
(chapter 19) The latter is obsessed with work, while he is suffering from insomnia. 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 67) when Kim Dan, eyes wide and voice trembling, asks Joo Jaekyung: “Are you saying you brought me here because you’re worried about me?” His expression reveals everything — a fragile hope for genuine concern. But the only response he gets is silence. 
(chapter 67) This unspoken answer reverberates with painful familiarity: from his vanished mother, from his halmoni who rarely expressed love (rather gratitude and pity), and from a world that reduced him to his usefulness. What he really wants to know is: “Do I matter to you as a person?” And just like his grandmother, the champion fails to offer direct emotional reassurance. Yet unlike her, Joo Jaekyung is still learning. His silence isn’t rejection, but emotional illiteracy — a work in progress.
(chapter 65) And when we remember that Kim Dan tried to call her, she
(chapter 44) These gestures suggest he had once received such kisses, most likely from his mother. It means he remembers love, even if he doesn’t know how to process its loss.
(Chapter 39), the moment is tainted. It occurred under the influence of an aphrodisiac, intertwining love with sex. Furthermore, he has never voiced this sentiment to his grandmother—perhaps because she never said it to him. It was never modeled. While others might judge Kim Dan’s emotional restraint, I desire to stay neutral. He is not an emotionally stunted adult by choice—he is a product of emotional neglect. That’s the reason why Mingwa has associated him with an angel. 
He is carrying the sins of “adults”. By likening him to an angel, Mingwa frames his pain not as weakness, but as unjust burden. He embodies purity, sacrifice, and resilience, not because he was allowed to thrive, but because he endured. The angel metaphor becomes even more striking when you think about traditional symbolism: angels don’t belong to Earth, yet they walk among the living, often suffering in silence and helping others. That’s exactly Kim Dan — out of place, bearing the consequences of others’ choices, carrying guilt, debt, and unspoken grief that were never his to begin with.
(chapter 29) —not because of physical intimacy with Joo Jaekyung, but because he felt safe. For a time, the place became his illusion of home. But when the champion showed mistrust, the illusion shattered. 
(Chapter 67) Observe how Joo Jaekyung called the penthouse: not home, but his place. Due to the last altercation, the emotional safety collapsed. This experience reactivated his fear of abandonment and solidified the belief that he has no home. 
(chapter 65) Even the family photo (where and by whom it was taken is unclear) emphasizes the fragility and incompleteness of his sense of belonging.
(chapter 61) that he must sacrifice his “needs” and identity to be accepted. 
(chapter 66) Therefore it is not surprising that he laughes like a little child during that night. 
(Chapter 44) Chapter 66 represents its negative reflection, the emotional climax of this regression: 
(chapter 66) he cries, begs, 
(chapter 66) holds on—“Don’t leave me.”
(chapter 66) and desperate pleas are not about romance—they’re about survival, longing and regret. Deep down, he wished, he had hold onto his “mother” in the past, stopped her from leaving him. Is it a coincidence that this gesture from that night mirrors the one during their first night? 
(chapter 2) He wanted the champion to keep his promise. From my point of view, the parent’s vanishing is strongly intertwined with a broken promise… And that’s exactly what the grandmother did to her own grandson: she didn’t keep her words either. 
(chapter 11) 
(chapter 67), but this time, with eerie detachment. He kneels before Joo Jaekyung like a servant, 
(chapter 67) his arousal betrays a loss of emotional control. Though he is on his knees, it is Joo Jaekyung who is emotionally yielding. His body betrays his composure, responding to Kim Dan’s touch and gaze. Kim Dan, watching the tremble in the fighter’s expression and the rising heat in his body, feels the shift. His soft blush is not simply one of affection or embarrassment—it’s a flicker of recognition. 
(chapter 67) He senses that the one usually in control is now unraveling. Appearances deceive: beneath this scene lies a quiet reversal of power. The blush on his cheeks is a trace of a brief moment of clarity: he sees that the person who once held all the control is now faltering.
(chapter 66), his body is still a vessel for mourning. Hence there is no kiss during that blue night. Each night carries the residue of that first trauma: the night he was left alone. Whether his mother disappeared or passed away in the night, the result is the same—nighttime became synonymous with loss.
(chapter 63) His so-called jinx is not some irrational superstition. It’s a scar. It’s the quiet belief that the people he loves will vanish the moment he lets his guard down.
(chapter 67), it’s resignation. Hence he is not expecting to be cured with the pills. 
(chapter 67) he offers sex to “settle up,” citing his own preparations like a transaction. 
(chapter 7), while Kim Dan becomes a child during the night.
(Chapter 66) 
(chapter 66) they saw it as further confirmation of their perception—reinforcing the idea that he is terribly flawed. However, a deeper analysis suggests that this term reflects not just his character but also his evolving mindset and struggle with emotional vulnerability. This essay will explore the paradox at the heart of their dynamic—how both men refuse to acknowledge the emotional weight of their relationship, leading to a cycle of denial and misperception. It will examine how the concept of the jinx evolves, the continued influence of Park Namwook’s manipulations on Joo Jaekyung, and the role that mutual ingratitude plays in their emotional stagnation.
(chapter 65), the nature of his principle has changed: 
(chapter 65)The athlete is admitting his dependency on doc Dan. The jinx is now directly tied to Kim Dan, not just as a concept but as a tangible element of Joo Jaekyung’s career stability. The second switch is that sex is no longer a condition to ward off bad luck. In fact, the celebrity is recognizing the importance of his daily training and, as such, his hard work. 
(chapter 65) The inner thoughts of the sportsman reveal that the champion is feeling less powerless than before. His champion status is no longer reliant on superstition but on tangible efforts—his “old routine” and, crucially, Kim Dan’s expertise as a physical therapist. This marks a significant transformation in his perception of Kim Dan, whom he now values for his professional skills rather than as a mere tool for maintaining a ritual. Thus, Joo Jaekyung should be less inclined to request Doc Dan’s sexual services. Then, in episode 66, a new change became visible.
(chapter 11), a tool to generate money and maintain the gym’s reputation. Hence he blames him, when members leave the gym. 
(chapter 46) The manager used the incident with Seonho to justify the desertion of the other athletes. However, it is clear that some left the gym because they didn’t become successful like Joo Jaekyung. However, their lack of success is explained by their lack of talent 
(chapter 46) exposing the lack of ambition and commitment from the two hyungs. It is clear that Joo Jaekyung’s wealth and fame was used to attract the sportsmen creating a myth that they could experience the same success. Nevertheless, as time passed on, the fighters were confronted with reality. It was, as if the athlete’s achievement had become a curse for Team Black. Nonetheless, neither the manager nor the coach can admit it, the champion’s bad temper is utilized to cover the mismanagement within the gym. Striking is that by portraying the protagonist as a person with a bad temper and personality 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 66) In calling Kim Dan ‘defect,’ Joo Jaekyung is unknowingly projecting his own self-perception onto him. The term suggests something broken but also something that can be repaired, reflecting an unconscious shift in his perspective. Instead of simply using Kim Dan as part of a superstition, he is beginning to see his vulnerability, perhaps even recognizing a parallel to his own struggles. His choice of words also reveals his deeply ingrained belief in self-reliance. 
(chapter 66) Nevertheless, the idiom (“he’s got a defect”) reveal that Joo Jaekyung is still under the manager’s influence. This means that this shift is not immediate or conscious; it is restrained by his continued loyalty to Park Namwook and his ingrained avoidance of emotional vulnerability.
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 66) Striking is that by each meeting, the champion was alone with the manager. The latter was no longer followed by coach Yosep. It was, as if Park Namwook wanted to have some privacy with the celebrity. However, through this contrast, Jinx-lovers can detect a certain MO from the manager: he is isolating the champion, limiting his interactions with other members. This explicates why he remains a pivotal force in Joo Jaekyung’s stagnation. 
(chapter 27) This double standard highlights Park Namwook’s true role: he is not a supportive figure but a handler, ensuring that Joo Jaekyung remains under control and fulfilling his duties as a fighter. His words are not meant to provide genuine support but to keep Joo Jaekyung tethered to a system where his worth is defined solely by his success in the ring. 
(chapter 54) or (un)favorable interviews about the athlete. 
(chapter 50), preferring instead to remain passive so that any negative outcomes can be blamed on the champion. At the same time, this passivity helps him maintain control—as if Joo Jaekyung, without his guidance, would be left ‘alone’ and directionless. In this way, the man with the glasses sustains a dynamic in which the champion feels dependent on his presence, even as he is subtly undermined. By neglecting to inform him of these events, Park Namwook ensures that the champion remains unaware of external factors that could influence his choices. This pattern reinforces the possibility that Park Namwook was aware of the meeting with Choi Gilseok and deliberately ignored it, likely expecting that Joo Jaekyung would take care of it, while absolving himself of responsibility. 
(chapter 66) This hesitation stems from deeply ingrained beliefs about relationships and fidelity. His loyalty to Park Namwook prevents him from fully confronting the possibility that his manager may not have his best interests at heart. Moreover, his own emotional repression makes it difficult for him to recognize his evolving dependency on Kim Dan as something beyond physical necessity. 
(chapter 22) They had heard about his place, for the manager must have talked about it. The protagonist is not someone who will talk about his private life to others. The manager must have dangled promises in front of them, making them believe that if they’re lucky enough, they too could live like the champion. However, their reactions reveal something crucial—they are not motivated by greed but by genuine admiration. They simply want to experience the luxury once in a while, reinforcing that their bond with Joo Jaekyung is rooted in camaraderie rather than material envy. This further highlights the contrast between Park Namwook’s manipulation and the sincere regard his teammates have for him. This scene is important, because it exposes the manager’s prejudices and lack of discernment. 
(chapter 46) Not everyone is the same and more importantly like him! It is clear that the man is projecting his own principles onto others and in particular onto the champion. 
(chapter 66) Neither of them fully understands how to acknowledge care or support. Just as Joo Jaekyung struggles to recognize his actions as stemming from concern 
(chapter 66) rather than routine, Kim Dan fails to see Joo Jaekyung’s interventions as genuine help. This mutual misunderstanding deepens the emotional rift between them, ensuring that both remain trapped in their own perceptions of obligation rather than connection. In Chapter 66, he openly expresses frustration, stating, 
(chapter 66). This moment highlights a rare glimpse of honesty: he is not acting purely out of self-interest, but he frames it as an obligation rather than a choice. From my point of view, such a statement could only reach the physical therapist’s mind, for in the latter’s eyes, the champion has always been a “demon”: self-centered and inconsiderate. Observe the absence of reply from the “hamster”. He couldn’t contradict the star, as the latter was using this negative image: bad tempered and selfish.
(chapter 7) and even Choi Heesung. Hence the latter called him like that: 
(chapter 30) Kim Dan’s perception of himself as an “angel” has long shaped the way he interprets his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. Reinforced by his upbringing and Park Namwook’s subtle manipulation 
(chapter 1), selfish, and emotionally stunted. However, this self-perception is deeply flawed. By believing himself to be inherently better 
(chapter 66) The expression “Really…?” is not just about disbelief but also about a moment of confrontation with reality. Up until this point, Kim Dan has been dismissing his own suffering, suppressing his struggles, and functioning on autopilot. However, hearing a professional confirm that he is indeed sick forces him to acknowledge what he has been denying.
(chapter 60) or exaggerations. 
(chapter 66) It also forces him to consider that others—especially Joo Jaekyung—were right to be concerned, which in turn may lead to a shift in his perception of the champion’s actions.
(chapter 20) with shame, something impure that should be avoided or hidden. This internalized belief made it difficult for him to separate his own experiences from moral judgment. When he encountered the champion —who treated sex as nothing more than a professional ritual 
(chapter 66) He assumed once again that the star had taken advantage of his “drunkenness”, something Kim Dan had done himself in the past.
(chapter 66) because Kim Dan does not recognize his efforts, while Kim Dan cannot see past his own survival instincts to notice that Joo Jaekyung’s actions are slowly shifting from obligation to care. Kim Dan, conditioned by years of neglect and survival-driven thinking, does not see Joo Jaekyung’s actions as genuine care. 
(chapter 66) And the latter can see beyond the appearances. 
(chapter 36), his tendency to retreat rather than challenge his own doubts 
(chapter 36), and his overwhelming fear of disappointing others 
(chapter 62), Joo Jaekyung does not. The evidence for this interpretation is the champion’s nightmare: 
(chapter 25) Therefore the physical therapist bought books. Moreover, we should consider this argument 
(chapter 45) as a revocation of the star’s statement in episode 18. Kim Dan was no longer perceived as a tool, but as a real physical therapist. On the one hand, this request boosted the “angel’s ego”, on the other hand, he was put under immense pressure, for he was compared to his colleagues. 
(chapter 45) Since in Seoul, Kim Dan has only been hired because of sex (Joo Jaekyung, the perverted hospital director)
(chapter 62) Due to his bad past experiences, he concluded deep down that his CV was not reflecting the truth. 
(chapter 56) That’s the reason why he was devaluing himself and as such not looking for a high position.
(chapter 48) exemplifies this pattern: 
(chapter 48) It was not the right time. He assumed his voice held no weight, reflecting years of learned helplessness. It shows how Kim Dan internalizes responsibility for things beyond his control. He thinks that withholding information is an act of protection rather than avoidance. Yet in doing so, he denies himself agency in his own life.
(chapter 62) completely devastated Kim Dan’s already fragile self-esteem. 
(chapter 62) First, he considers himself as waste. While in the past, he was at least a tool, he is now garbage. Hence his feelings are “trash”. 
(chapter 62) This means that in episode 62, he felt worse than in episode 18! The idioms “trash” and “waste” revealed the doctor’s own self-perception in episode 62: he saw himself as totally useless. He belonged to the “wastebasket”, just like the golden key chain. 
(chapter 46) Thus I deduce that the fate of this item echoes the doctor’s. 
(chapter 47) He had selected this profession because of her. This shows that until now, he has never developed any ambition on his own. The loss of faith from someone he relied on for motivation made him feel completely worthless. This reinforces that his confidence and sense of direction were never self-sustained: they depended on others’ recognition. This pattern suggests that Kim Dan has never truly asked himself what he wants. His entire existence has revolved around meeting expectations, whether from his grandmother, Joo Jaekyung, or even his profession. His current crisis—feeling like waste—stems from the realization that without someone to validate his worth, he sees himself as nothing.
(chapter 59) However, observe that he is using the expressions “do” and “now”. This has nothing to do with the future and dreams. It is not a reflection on his own desires but rather an immediate reaction to his circumstances. His mindset is still trapped in survival mode, seeking a course of action rather than contemplating what he truly wants. His words reflect an urgency to act rather than an opportunity to dream. This highlights that he has spent his entire life making decisions based on necessity rather than personal fulfillment. Even when faced with uncertainty, he does not ask himself what he wants—only what he must do next. His transformation will only be complete when he begins to question not just how to survive, but how to live on his own terms. That’s how I realized why Mingwa put this question in front of the window covered with Venetian blinds [which made me think of this scene 
(chapter 39 – Venice, a travel to Italy]. The window with the Venetian blinds represents a metaphor for the doctor’s trapped dreams. This interpretation made me recognize another aspect. Kim Dan is pushed to meditate, when he is front of a window or better said close to the sky! Hence the hamster started thinking about his own future in the penthouse 
(chapter 19) or when he looked at the sun and sky: 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 41) And the best evidence for this interpretation and expectation is doc Dan’s cellphone screen display. 
(chapter 38) My avid readers will certainly recall that clouds embody dreams! Why? It is because in verity, doc Dan is a dreamer, an ambitious man. What caught my attention is that his contact Joo Jaekyung was not saved with a picture!! And what had motivated Kim Dan in the past? 
(chapter 47) The picture from his childhood: himself with his grandmother. 
(chapter 38) No wonder why he questioned the meaning of his champion title: 
(chapter 54). He saw the belt as something rather “meaningless”. 
(chapter 43) This would boost the doctor’s self-esteem. He is not trash, but an acknowledged fan and friend. The picture would encourage the physical therapist to develop his own ambitions. As soon as I made this discovery, another detail caught my notice: 
(chapter 66) The celebrity has no picture of Park Namwook in his contacts divulging the superficiality of their relationship. 
(chapter 42) The problem is that the athlete took this recommendation personally. He felt as if his job as fighter was questioned. 
(chapter 42) As you can see, the doctor’s hesitations were exposing his mental obstacles, which was reflected in the champion’s attitude. No wonder why doc Dan chose to become a courier as a second job instead of finding a new VIP client. While the interaction between the athlete and Kim Dan in front of the hospice display the return of doc Dan’s past mental hurdles:
(chapter 62) According to the main lead, the champion is “wasting his time here”. 
(chapter 62)
(chapter 57) Hence it is clear that in the future, the physical therapist would refuse to use any kind of spray. On the other hand, it is important to recall that back then, Joo Jaekyung had made the request himself: 
(chapter 57) 
(chapter 1) with a previous PT like the spray? No wonder why he called himself “trash” in the end. 
, people might wonder why I selected dandelions as a frame for the selected.. It’s clear that the dandelions aren’t just there for aesthetic balance. Their symbolism is profound. Dandelions are often associated with childhood innocence, wishes, and fleeting moments of beauty, yet they also wither quickly, easily scattered by the wind. In the context of Jinx, they represent a transitory force—something that struggles to take root, much like the intangible and fleeting elements in Kim Dan’s life. But there’s more to it. Before delving into deeper analysis, consider this: what is the common denominator in all these scenes?
(chapter 37) Therefore it is not surprising that the main lead couldn’t view the members as friends in the end. 
(chapter 41) And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung has always disliked his birthday and the “congratulations” from people in general. The gifts and words were like poisoned praises to his soul. They were pushing him to live like a “god”. 
(chapter 59) While this photography was not a personal and intimate picture, it also symbolizes his first root in the little community: Light of Hope Hospice. He is part of the staff and as such of the little town. On the other side, we could say, he is gradually entering the scene as a PT. Note the contrast to the food truck: 
(chapter 30) In other words, it exposes the actor’s hypocrisy and wrongdoings. And now, you understand why I wrote genuine in parentheses above [proof of (genuine) human connection]. Photography in Jinx also represents the evidence of wrongdoing 
(chapter 46) The exact opposite of the dandelions.
(chapter 66) reveals Kim Dan’s elevation in the champion’s life. The dressing room symbolizes privacy and closeness. No longer seen as a mere tool, Kim Dan has become an integral part of Joo Jaekyung’s world, not because of what he can do but because of who he is. 
(chapter 66) Therefore the champion is holding the expensive gift with his whole hand contrary to the past: 
(chapter 55) As a conclusion, by bringing him to the sleep specialist, the star proved doc Dan’s words wrong! He told him something that doc Dan didn’t know: he is precious. He needs to pay attention to his health and body.
(chapter 32) And now, you comprehend why the athlete didn’t fall for Park Namwook’s manipulations afterwards.
(chapter 65) At the same time, such a disapproval 
(chapter 1), hence his true desire was to run away from that place. For praise to be effective, the recipient must be open to receiving it, either by looking forward to feedback or having expectations of validation. Since Kim Dan was in a state of distress, he was unable to internalize the champion’s words, reinforcing his long-standing belief that he was invisible or unworthy of acknowledgment. That’s how the champion’s praise became a dandelion seed in the end.
(chapter 18) 
(chapter 64) 
(chapter 66) Is this a joke? 
(chapter 40) However, Kim Dan has never realized it. Either he was sleeping or totally out of it (fear of sex) 
(chapter 27) It is important to recall the importance of the receiver’s mind-set. The latter has to perceive the sincerity from the speaker. Hence I come to the following deduction: The moment Kim Dan notices Joo Jaekyung’s smile and laugh, then he should come to the conclusion that he matters to the protagonist. I would even say, the two protagonists are destined to make each other laugh and smile: 
(chapter 58) The friends ignored the main lead’s emotions and struggles. In order to be able to have fun, both main leads must be freed from their past and low self-esteem. 
(chapter 65) At first glance, the grandmother’s wheelchair and the ocean seem to represent opposing forces, yet they also reveal a complex relationship between power and vulnerability. Thus in this analysis, I will explore how these elements, rather than simply contradicting each other, might actually reflect a struggle to find balance between dependency and independence.
(chapter 65), yet her portrayal of him seems unexpectedly harsh—emphasizing his flaws (smoking, drinking). 
(chapter 65) This description stands in opposition to the gumiho’s statement: he was an angel. 
(chapter 65) or with shock? 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 65) His bare feet on the cold ground 
(chapter 65) suggest a longing for freedom, yet the direction of his steps remains uncertain. Whereas these walks reveal about his inner struggle, they don’t reveal the destination of his nightly strolls. Where was he going during that night? Was he going to the ocean—vast and untamed— like in episode 59, 
(chapter 65) or had his destination changed? These questions will be answered in the second part. 
(chapter 65) This destination reflects the athlete’s desire and mind-set. He likes this place because it is quiet. 
(chapter 62) From my perspective, the man has now internalized the beach to nature and privacy. Striking is the way Mingwa introduced the scenery. First, she focused on the wheel and Joo Jaekyung’s feet. 
(chapter 65) The contrast between the creaking wheels of the grandmother’s wheelchair and the steady steps of the champion immediately establishes the theme of control versus freedom. The wheelchair’s wheels represent civilization, immobility, passivity, and the grandmother’s obsession with control—over her own fate 
(chapter 59) The contrast between these two images—one of the halmoni accompanied by Joo Jaekyung and the other of Kim Dan sitting alone by the ocean—exposes the stark difference in their emotional worlds and the dynamics of control and isolation that define their lives.
(chapter 65) The sunlight high in the sky bathes the scene in brightness, suggesting a façade of warmth and clarity. This lighting aligns with the halmoni’s belief that she can influence Kim Dan through the champion, using Joo Jaekyung as an intermediary to extend her authority. The fact that she is in a wheelchair, however, subtly contradicts this impression of power, revealing her true state of passivity and reliance on others to act on her behalf. The ocean, tamed by the pathway, symbolizes her attempt to domesticate nature— 
(chapter 65) the same illusion that the high sun implies. The latter can not shine if there are clouds. 
(chapter 59)
(chapter 57) By telling him that he had no ties here, she effectively erased their shared past and portraying him as a stranger in the very place she calls home. Thus I deduce that she is aware that she is racing against time. The longer the athlete stays in that place, the lower are the chances that her grandson will leave this town. She has to ensure that Joo Jaekyung doesn’t feel like settling here. I don’t think, she heard about the athlete’s involvement in the little town, for her only source of information comes from the staff 
(chapter 65) Here, she claims that she only knows about the sportsman’s job thanks to the patient next door. However, she is lying, because she watched his match in the States. 
(chapter 41) The irony is that she is not realizing that she is showing her true colors. 
(chapter 21) In episode 21, the halmoni’s description of the champion as a “good friend” was, in hindsight, a superficial and self-serving characterization. At that time, she likely saw Joo Jaekyung as someone who could be beneficial for Kim Dan’s financial situation without truly caring about who he was as a person. Her interest in him was more about what he represented—a source of money and stability—rather than any genuine appreciation of his character or the impact of his presence in Kim Dan’s life. Thus she said this in front of the ocean: 
(chapter 61) Yes, the conversation at the beach played an important role, for Shin Okja’s behavior serves as a distorted mirror to Joo Jaekyung’s actions and mindset, exposing the flaws and contradictions in both. When she voiced this wish 
(chapter 22) he acted out of a simplistic view of good deeds—believing that financial support alone could resolve problems and fulfill his moral obligations. His subsequent failure to visit her again reflects his tendency to distance himself emotionally once he has performed what he sees as his duty. This is reminiscent of his behavior towards Kim Dan: helping him materially but avoiding deeper emotional involvement or responsibility.
(chapter 65) is a way to offload responsibility for doc Dan while maintaining an image of concern. Both display a form of care that lacks true depth.
(chapter 62) Both avoid the emotional accountability that comes with their actions, preferring to distance themselves once a material obligation (debts)
(chapter 60) is fulfilled.
(chapter 22)
(chapter 60) If my assumption is correct, the woman didn’t realize that this rejection was linked to Joo Jaekyung’s intervention. So if she had talked to her grandchild himself, she could have had an impact… But they are actually avoiding each other. One thing is sure: the absence of communication and avoidance between these two family members reinforced the doctor’s suffering. Imagine the consequences of her request: she is preferring locking him up in a hospital receiving drugs than giving what doc Dan has been longing: warmth, love and a home. 
(chapter 65) where both were happily smiling. The picture is the evidence that she could make Kim Dan smile despite their poverty. Moreover, it is important to recall that she introduced Kim Dan as an orphan from birth: 
(chapter 48). Both the halmoni and Choi Gilseok embody betrayal and the theme of acting behind the back 
(chapter 48) mask a deeper betrayal. His real aim was never to assist but to control, using offers of support as bait to tie Kim Dan into a powerless position. The parallel between his proposition to Kim Dan—promising a better life in exchange for leaking information and compliance—and the halmoni’s push for Seoul’s hospitals underlines their shared strategy: make the target believe they have a choice, while the outcome is already decided. The fact that Heo Manwook, who collects Kim Dan’s debts, called Choi Gilseok “hyung” further hints at a deeper conspiracy, suggesting that the offer might have been a tool to ensnare Kim Dan from the start. He would have committed a crime (illegal drugs).
(chapter 62) That’s the reason why he was seeking the grandmother’s support. He was hoping that she could influence him. But what he hears, shocks him: 
(chapter 29) He had even advised to think of himself first. As you can see, the fact that the two characters were just sitting next to each other reinforces my previous interpretation about the conversation. The grandmother was the one who had been leading the conversation, there is no real exchange of thoughts. In episode 29, the champion refused to accept the doctor’s help and suggestion. That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the star won’t listen to the grandmother.
(chapter 57) But it is only partially correct. The doctor only suggested this walk to the ocean much later, when he was already suffering emotionally. This means that the grandmother would have not been able to enjoy this walk. Yes, the timing played a huge role. In fact, she confessed her crime to the star: 
(chapter 65) However, I believe that her words reached the champion’s third eye. The latter was not focusing on the grandmother, but on his fated companion. He was trying to understand why he had changed. This question was already on his mind before: 
(chapter 62) Once he has achieved his goal (reclaim his champion title), they will depart from each other. He would treat the doctor the same way than the grandmother! No wonder why doc Dan is getting angry and rejecting the offers from his destined partner. IT is only about his own selfish desires and not about doc Dan’s future and desires. Both have a similar mind-set: they don’t know what doc Dan plans to do with his life and the future…. And it shows that Joo Jaekyung was imitating the grandmother, though this suggestion was born from the following thought. Since Doc Dan was no reluctant to work for him, he imagined that maybe he would still accept to work for him for a limited time. But that’s not what Kim Dan is looking. He is longing for a home and at the same time for freedom.
(chapter 65) The points of suspension are indicating that he is meditating on her words and suggestions. This stands in opposition to his past behavior where he got manipulated so easily. 
(chapter 21) It happened behind doc Dan’s back in the end. The latter was sick, but the old lady didn’t seem concerned. The second lie is this statement which is exposed with the memory:
(chapter 57) She claims her ignorance why the little boy acted like an adult at such a young age. The reality is that she hasn’t forgotten the incident at all. This explicates why she confessed this to the “wolf”: 
(chapter 30) a sign that she was never a source of embarrassment for him. 
(chapter 18) What caught my attention in her revelation is her lack of enthusiasm for her own grandson. 
(chapter 65) “Is he that good?” exposes a lack of faith in her grandchild, a remark which caught the athlete by surprise. For me, he unconsciously sensed this negative aspect. 
(chapter 65) While this image is actually humorous, the grandmother’s words don’t match her body language. She is not showing any joy or smile. Therefore I comprehend why Kim Dan was so hurt by the champion’s behavior: 
(chapter 61) Finally, it is important that the athlete never agreed to her “demand” or suggestion. 
(chapter 13), who had been awakened by the champion, though contrary to the fairy tale, this arising was associated with pain. [For more read the analysis 
(chapter 60) But how did they ended up both cursed by the same spell? The reason is simple. They were either halted by guilt and self-loathing or distorted by the desperate need to escape a traumatic past. Yet, amidst this stasis, small cracks are beginning to appear, suggesting that the flow of time cannot be denied forever. The past can not be repeated 
(chapter 64) or become the present or future. At the heart of this struggle lie symbols of doors, windows, and reflections—metaphors for how both characters perceive their realities and their chances of breaking free.
(chapter 44), he still does not fully include himself in this awareness. His concern was limited to his grandmother’s limited time 
(chapter 59), reflecting his selfless role as a caregiver. As someone who has long allowed others to define his time—whether as a physical therapist or as a prostitute—Kim Dan has yet to acknowledge his own mortality. Even during the lavender-tinted night, while he determined the length 
(chapter 64) and nature of the encounter 
(chapter 62), he did so for the sake of debts, not for himself. 
(chapter 64) The recent death of the puppy serves as a stark reminder 
(chapter 59) that he is not exempt from time’s reach, that he too is aging and vulnerable. But the doctor failed to recognize this warning. He only viewed it as a sign of his own powerlessness, reducing it from his own perception. He overlooked the fragility of life as such. 
(chapter 35), he created an illusion of freedom that only masked his deeper confinement—his glass prison. When Kim Dan closed the door and left 
(chapter 64), the illusion shattered, revealing the reality of his loneliness. The jinx, 
(chapter 55) The view created an illusion of openness and freedom, masking the reality of his confinement. Glass, by its very nature, is transparent—a barrier that is invisible yet unbreakable, creating a false sense of freedom. The window’s clarity hid the fact that it was, in truth, an impassable wall that confined him, turning the promise of escape into a cruel irony. By focusing on the horizon, he could avoid looking inward, denying the unresolved trauma left by his anonymous abuser. 
(chapter 54) were designed to create the illusion of eternity—as if time itself was under the phantom’s control. This assertion not only sought to freeze Joo Jaekyung in a perpetual state of inadequacy but also to distort his perception of change as impossible. Trapped in a cycle of hatred and self-loathing, the athlete’s vision of freedom was limited to the false infinity of the horizon. 
(chapter 19) —a window that offered no view of the outside world. This reflected his entrapment in a life defined by guilt and sacrifice, unable to envision a future beyond repaying debts and fulfilling duties. The window’s visible cracks and makeshift repairs represent not only the physical deterioration of their environment but also the psychological fragmentation within Kim Dan himself. By choosing to patch the window rather than replace it, Shin Okja’s actions reflect a mentality of denial and resignation—an unwillingness to confront the full extent of their impoverishment and suffering.
(chapter 19) suggests a deeper symbolic resistance to change or moving forward. In a sense, the grandmother’s decision to live with the broken window mirrors her acceptance of a life defined by limitations and unspoken grief. 
(chapter 51) Observe how the “hamster” is once again turning his back to the door. However, the bloody footprints became an evidence for Kim Dan that he had been abandoned and left behind. And now, you comprehend why the main lead took the athlete’s request seriously and literally. It is because the door in the past was the symbol of betrayal and abandonment. This explicates why he is so sensitive to the sound of a closing door and could recognize it, even if his ears and eyes were covered. 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 19) When he was standing here, he must have sensed it as a betrayal against his own grandmother. Hence he employed the expression “goodbye” and not “farewell” to diminish his guilt. No wonder why he chose to hide his move from his relative and bring the Wedding Cabinet to the penthouse. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can grasp why Kim Dan’s nightmares in season 2 were linked to the opened door: 
(chapter 57) His unconscious was telling him this: Shin Okja had broken her promise. She was about to abandon him. He had the impression that he was reliving the past. That’s the reason why he was scared and suffering. 
(chapter 56) revealed the existence of a past trauma. It highlighted his own fear of abandonment and rejection—an emotion he had long denied. The door, a supposed barrier against the outside world, now stood as a reminder of all he had pushed away, including his own need for connection. Therefore he never left his door open in the penthouse: 
(chapter 55) That’s why I perceive this scene as an important step for Kim Dan himself: 
(chapter 64) By opening and closing the door, he is overcoming his abandonment issues. He becomes the ruler of his own life (time and relationship). He is freeing himself from the mental torment which readers could witness in earlier episodes. 
(chapter 24) The physical therapist has kept his past trauma a secret. And what is the synonym for “secret”? Key! So when the main lead leaves the champion behind 
(chapter 24), yet the latter didn’t get fooled at all. He found out the true nature of their relationship. 
(chapter 19) the Wedding Cabinet in Kim Dan’s home functioned both as a mirror and a false window, preserving an illusion of timelessness. 
(chapter 19) Unlike the rest of the dilapidated house 
(chapter 10), the cabinet remained pristine, suggesting a futile attempt to halt the passage of time and maintain the status quo. 
(chapter 53) By throwing it away, Kim Dan unknowingly released time from its prison, breaking the spell that his grandmother’s control had cast over him. This act was not just a rejection of his past but an unconscious acknowledgment that time was moving forward—that he could no longer live as if he were already dead. Simultaneously, this gesture symbolizes his separation from his grandmother, breaking the illusion of perpetuity that she maintained. So while he might have been by her side physically 
(chapter 1) to the point that I called him “Mister Mistake”. 
(chapter 43) On the other hand, his missteps are there to teach the fighter to drop his perfectionism and to bring the notion of entertainment in his fated partner’s life. Kim Dan is funny in his own way. 
(chapter 64) He doesn’t respect humans in general. The irony is that by criticizing Joo Jaekyung, the doctor is overlooking his own nature. He is also a sinner. 
(chapter 57) Is it a coincidence that the doctor’s cold attitude takes place in chapter 60 -64? 
(chapter 61) No, as the number 6 sounds similar to sex. Moreover, don’t forget that Satan’s number is strongly associated with 6 (666 or 616). From my point of view, the “hamster” is on his way to become an adult and as such a sinner as well. The physical therapist’s stubbornness reminded me of the behavior of a teenager who believes to know everything about life, while in verity, such people lack experiences. And what did the nurse say about the main lead? 
(chapter 61) But why did he want to return to the past? It is because of the ghost’s criticism 
(chapter 29) That’s why he was on survival modus and could never refuse any challenge. By associating sex with endurance and control 
(chapter 64) 
(chapter 64) That’s why the door 
(chapter 64) Hence the author focused on his wide opened gaze. Kim Dan’s intervention was painful but necessary, because through this reflection, the athlete’s motivation to fight is bound to change. In the future, the fight won’t be deadly serious like before, he won’t act like a tyrant in the ring where he couldn’t control his rage. 
(chapter 1) He will see his opponent as an artist too. 
(chapter 21) with her, because he felt treasured. 
(chapter 61) 
(chapter 63) —no matter how reluctantly—represents the second turn. With the doctor’s cold rejection, he is forced to choose: What does he want in life? Only the champion title or something else? 
(chapter 64)
Hence the latter will become his hyung. For me, there’s no doubt that through this confrontation, the athlete’s respect for Kim Dan can only increase. 
(chapter 27), and he noticed the quietness of the ocean 
(chapter 59) But this time, that would be a conscious choice. That’s how he will reconnect with his true self for good. But strangely, I am expecting that he won’t be on his own. I am quite certain that this man will make a similar experience than the grandmother: 
(chapter 53) However, from my point of view, Joo Jaekyung should witness the sunrise and not sunset… which would announce his rebirth. There was only one sunset in season 1, which was linked to Shin Okja’s mortality: 
(chapter 47). Moreover, in season 1 and 2, the doctor was often connected to the sunset: 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 17) And we had the beach here in the background.
(chapter 48) This was an ominous sign for the champion’s symbolic “death” and rebirth. Sun and moon are natural tools to determine the flow of time. 
(chapter 64), and the language of touch—their dynamic undergoes a profound shift. This moment is not just about desire but about power, communication, and the fight for control. It is in this intimate space that both men are confronted with their vulnerabilities 
(chapter 64), and Kim Dan begins to push back, not with force, but with emotional detachment. He avoids his gaze, hides his moaning and as such remains silent. This night is a pivotal moment, signaling the champion’s awakening to his emotions and Kim Dan’s assertion of his autonomy. 
(chapter 63) it is a stark contrast to the usual aggressive or mechanical physicality of their past encounters. Let’s not forget that when the athlete kissed the doctor for the first time 
(chapter 14) in the locker room, he not only used his hand 
(chapter 14), but also remembered his hyung’s advice. 
(chapter 14) This comparison outlines that their first kiss was more the result of conscious and tactical decisions than of passion and desire. It was not only to protect the hamster’s life, but also to be able to fight against Randy Booker. In other words, their first kiss was strongly intertwined with work and absence of consent. He had not informed Doc Dan before.
(chapter 63), yet he licked the doctor’s lips
(chapter 63), until the latter finally opened his mouth. This gesture reminded me of a wolf licking his progeniture in order to show affection. My avid readers will certainly recall my analysis of their “love session” at the penthouse in Episode 44: there were traces of “animalistic behavior” 
(chapter 44) Therefore it is not surprising that in that little town, the star is no longer following any suggestion coming from his surrounding. He is not recalling Cheolmin’s words or not watching movies. This means that this kiss in episode 63 is born from desires and passion. This explicates why contrary to the one in the locker room
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 63) represented the next step of his “generosity”. Yet, the divergence is that the star had done the French Kiss by instincts, whereas the fellatio was more a calculated move. He selected this new approach based on his own likes and experiences. In other words, this magical night represents the birth of a “lover” and “boyfriend”. 
(chapter 15) The beginning of “emotions”. That’s why the physical therapist asked him to let him know in advance. And what did the athlete do during their reunion? One might reply that he ignored the request from the doctor. 
(chapter 63) It is clear that Kim Dan had anticipated a different approach: a renewal of their First wedding night. The irony is that the French kiss and the fellatio became the evidence that the star was not treating the doctor as a doll per se. Why? The star has changed a lot due to the main lead’s influence. He had gained knowledge and confidence. Nevertheless, their interaction here forces a confrontation not just between them, but within themselves—Jaekyung, who has always relied on physical dominance to maintain control, is confronted with a newfound uncertainty, while Kim Dan, whose silence once reinforced Jaekyung’s belief in his own power, now wields that same silence as a weapon.
(chapter 63) The significance of this kiss becomes evident when, later that night, he finally speaks up, voicing everything he has suppressed. 
(chapter 64), the scent in the air 
(as seen through the presence of scent sticks in the background), and the vision and sensation of the man beneath him. Unlike the previous intimate moment in Chapter 44, where he was inebriated, this time he is conscious. 
(chapter 64) This is the rebirth of Jaekyung—not as the infallible champion but as a man experiencing intimacy in a new way.
(chapter 64) It indicates that the star was actually revealing his attraction toward his companion. We could say that with this attitude, he was gradually lowering his guard. But there’s more to it. Just before he “was going to finish inside”, he chose to kiss his partner. 
(chapter 64) From my perspective, his gesture displays a transition. The ejaculation is no longer the symbol of dominance and manhood, but of attachment and care. This new observation reinforces my previous interpretation. This night was there to teach the champion to differentiate between the ring and the bed. 
(chapter 64) This privileged position indicates that the main lead was not ready to face Kim Dan’s gaze during an orgasm. In other words, he had not entirely lowered his guard in front of the doctor. The reason is simple. While he was giving pleasure to his partner, this is what he was forced to see: 
(chapter 64) Under this new light, I deduce that the champion was not aware of the true motivations behind his actions. He was actually longing for the doctor’s love and embrace. 
(chapter 64) His act of biting his lips in Chapter 64 is not just a nervous tic; it expresses not only physical manifestation of his restraint, but also his suicidal tendencies. He doesn’t mind hurting himself. This shows that he still doesn’t value and treasure his own body.
(chapter 64) The lip bite signifies hesitation but also resistance. It reflects his internal struggle: he does not want to engage, but something within him still reacts. He still has feelings for the athlete. This small gesture encapsulates his frustration—not just with Jaekyung, but with himself.
(chapter 57) and overworks himself. That’s the reason why I couldn’t truly rejoice when Kim Dan rejected the champion. In fact, he selected work and pain over “joy and pleasure”. And why? Because of the past and the athlete’s actions.
(chapter 64) Further by licking his lip, he is acting like his doctor and guardian. But there’s more to it. Observe the comment from the champion: he was holding back. This means that by biting his lips, the doctor reminded Joo Jaekyung of his own weak constitution. Thus I interpret that the champion came to associate the kiss with vulnerability and affection. 
(chapter 15) and touches were purely acts of dominance—ways to assert ownership over Kim Dan. However, the ear lick, which almost looks like a bite, in Chapter 64 carries a different weight. 
(chapter 45) or shoulders, which can be overtly sexual or aggressive, the ear is a sensitive spot, connected to emotions and perception. The fact that Jaekyung chooses this specific form of contact suggests a subconscious shift—he is not just trying to control Kim Dan but also to connect with him. 
(chapter 56) as well, when Jaekyung first began associating sex with play rather than mere exertion. His use of “play out” back then showed a change in mindset—sex was no longer just about stress relief but something to be experienced and enjoyed. The ear lick in Chapter 64 may stem from that same shifting perception. This explains why Mingwa made the champion blush and this panel is linked to light pink. 
(chapter 64) He refused to see and listen to others and to the athlete, because he was trying to deny the existence of his love. The reason is simple. He is trapped in his own world, full of darkness. He was trying to clinch onto the past, where he portrayed himself as a victim and doll of the champion. But the reality is that doc Dan treated himself as a doll or servant, for he didn’t value his own body. Hence he didn’t eat properly and drank soju to drown his pain. 
(chapter 5) This is a habit he had before he met Joo Jaekyung. Moreover the latter was living in abstinence, until he drank alcohol by mistake because of him.
(chapter 24) of Season 1. Instead, there is waiting and hesitation, an unspoken question in the way he leans in. For the first time, it seems as though he is searching for something more—perhaps a response, a reciprocation, or even just an acknowledgment from Kim Dan. This shift underscores Jaekyung’s internal transformation; he is gradually internalizing Kim Dan’s values and beginning to approach intimacy differently, even if he himself is not yet fully aware of it.
(chapter 64). He thought, using strength could still help him to conquer Kim Dan’s heart, though it is just an unconscious attempt. 
(chapter 8) 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 61) That’s the reason why during this lavender-tinted night, Mingwa used reflections of all sex sessions from season 1. Let’s not forget that Joo Jaekyung was never seen cleaning up “the mess” he made. Doc Dan had to clean himself, which is the reason why he made the following request: 
(chapter 63) And what is the opposite to fire? WATER!! Thus this image came to my mind. How do you kill desires and passion? One might say by becoming ice-cold! However, my answer is this: by pouring a glass of cold water on the champion’s face! Yes… 
(chapter 37) This means that Joo Jaekyung is getting punished for this gesture. Let’s not forget that he mentioned their stay in the States to bring back good memories. But I have another reference for this interpretation. 
(chapter 27) And where did he go to calm down? In the swimming pool… 
(Chapter 63) The presence—or absence—of clothing during their encounters symbolized the gradual dismantling of their emotional walls. Now, shifting the perspective to the champion, another layer of complexity emerges. Joo Jaekyung’s evolving approach to intimacy is not just a reflection of his growing feelings but also a silent, deeply ingrained struggle with dependence and control.
(chapter 63) Why does he hesitate to strip entirely, even as he succumbs to desire? Notice that he released his erected phallus before removing his cloth. 
(chapter 63) To answer this, a comparative analysis of earlier sex scenes is necessary, unraveling the hidden dialogue between physical exposure and emotional vulnerability.
(chapter 30) The doctor instinctively tried to cover his gray boxer shorts with his t-shirt, prompting the champion to question his reaction: 
(chapter 30) In Episode 63, this dynamic appears subtly reversed. 
(chapter 63) The champion, despite holding the dominant role, is now the one retaining a piece of clothing. This suggests an unconscious act of concealment—not of shame in the traditional sense, but of a growing dependency on Kim Dan.
(chapter 62) The “hamster” could sense with his leg the excitement. On the other hand, these pants were only removed once he entered the bedroom and was on the bed 
(chapter 63), reinforcing the idea that vulnerability, for him, is confined to this private space. Moreover, the choice of attire in Episode 62 
(chapter 63) Thus I deduce that exactly like the presence of the black underwear, the athlete’s low self-esteem hasn’t been removed completely. He still expects fear and rejection.
(chapter 55), and ensures that every encounter follows his carefully constructed narrative. However, in Episode 63, a subtle but undeniable shift occurs. For the first time, Jaekyung’s actions reflect something deeper than mere desire or dominance. They reveal his growing emotional investment in Kim Dan, exposing a side of him that even he does not fully comprehend. 
(chapter 12) In the earlier encounter, Jaekyung presented himself as a generous partner, offering Kim Dan a so-called privilege—an opportunity to enter a whole new world, thanks to him. However, his so-called generosity was nothing more than a facade, a way to conceal his inexperience in genuine intimacy. The tool he used was not just an object of pleasure but a mask for his own shortcomings as a lover. He did not know how to pleasure Kim Dan, nor did he care to learn. His focus was not on Kim Dan’s enjoyment but on reinforcing his own power and dominance.
(chapter 63) Here, he no longer portrays himself as the benevolent provider of an experience. 
(chapter 12) – seeking both to display dominance and to elicit validation 
(chapter 12) —this time, in Episode 63, he prioritizes Kim Dan’s pleasure without explicitly expecting anything in return. 
(chapter 63) Up until this point, Jaekyung has never truly faced rejection. 
(chapter 63) This moment forces him to confront an uncomfortable truth: power and status cannot buy emotional intimacy.
(chapter 03) or passive-aggressive remarks. 
(chapter 6) However, in this moment, he does not react with anger or coercion. 
(chapter 63) While he does voice his frustration, he does so without force, showing an unprecedented level of emotional regulation. Instead of demanding compliance, he chooses a different approach—he focuses on Kim Dan’s pleasure, attempting to bridge the emotional gap through physical intimacy 
(chapter 63) rather than control. This decision is not merely about sex; it is an unconscious attempt to regain Kim Dan’s attention, to re-establish a connection that he does not yet fully understand but deeply craves.
(chapter 29) This remark exemplified his detachment, his refusal to acknowledge Kim Dan as a person rather than just a body. Once again, the intercourse was linked to achievement and work. However, in Episode 63, he actively seeks Kim Dan’s gaze, subtly pleading for recognition. 
(chapter 63) This reversal is crucial because it indicates that he no longer sees Kim Dan as just a means to an end. However, his desire for recognition still lingers beneath the surface—just as he once sought validation through dominance, he now seeks it through Kim Dan’s acknowledgment. He wants something more, though he cannot yet articulate what that is, and his actions reflect a subconscious craving for emotional reassurance. 
(chapter 13)
(chapter 62) the sportsman welcomes the physical therapist in blue pajamas and a robe—an overt attempt to maintain distance and control. Even as the encounter begins, he leaves his pajamas on 
(chapter 3), removing them only 
(chapter 3) – this image marks the change) when the doctor’s back is turned. Then in Episode 8, during the shower, he continues wearing shorts and underwear 
(chapter 8), and his choice of the doggy style further reinforces his desire to avoid direct, face-to-face vulnerability. 
(chapter 12) before removing it and adding the pink sex toy. 
(chapter 12) Their bodies might have been close, but their minds remained divided. That’s why he couldn’t detect the huge bruises on his companion’s body. 
(chapter 12) This guarded approach is further underlined in Episode 20 
(chapter 20), where even in the midst of nakedness, the athlete deliberately positions the doctor in the dog stance. At the same time, he uses another MO: the darkness of the room to hide himself. This calculated arrangement maintains an emotional buffer, allowing him to remain physically exposed yet emotionally detached—a recurring theme in his behavior.
(chapter 29) while still cloaked in his familiar blue robe and pajamas. Interesting is that the room is not totally dark like in episode 20, the bedroom is illuminated by the huge TV screen. Importantly, this episode marks the first time they face each other in the bedroom, signaling a significant shift in their dynamic and announcing a switch in position. This newfound mutual visibility lays the groundwork for later developments.
(chapter 33) —a deliberate act imbued with symbolism. Unlike earlier encounters, the champion remains fully clothed throughout this episode, 
(chapter 33) contrasting sharply with previous moments of exposure. The car scene, where they are now facing each other, reinforces the announced switch in intimacy; the light not only illuminates the scene but also serves as a metaphorical spotlight on his desire to see the doctor’s face and body 
(chapter 33) —a silent assertion that only he can truly satisfy the physical therapist. Let’s not forget that before having sex together, the fighter resorted to a dildo 
(chapter 33) rather direct physical intimacy, because he felt insecure after witnessing the actor’s advances toward Kim Dan. His goal? To reaffirm his dominance and make Kim Dan admit that he needed him for pleasure. It is important because it exposes that deep down, the champion views himself as a bad lover. There is no doubt that Heesung‘s criticism resonated with him. 
(chapter 33)
(chapter 39) Maintaining the doggy style during this phase, he uses such intimate acts to mask his true longing and attraction—an effort to control the encounter while keeping his emotions under wraps. Then I noticed that they switched positions, when doc Dan asked for a break. 
(chapter 39) The wolf chose to lie down on the bed: 
(chapter 39) As you can see, through the different intercourses, we can see the different methods the star used to conceal himself, to hide his “weakness”, his growing feelings for the doctor.
(chapter 61) The physical therapist remembers an encounter bathed in bright light, where they stood before a couch: the doctor had removed his pants while the champion remained fully clothed, positioned behind him. 
(chapter 61) After both reached climax, the sportsman swiftly departed—a stark demonstration of his habitual retreat into distance and fear, even as he ensures the doctor’s pleasure. 
(chapter 63) Now lying on the bed facing each other, the pair’s physical closeness appears more genuine. Yet, even in this seemingly intimate configuration, they avoid locking eyes during penetration. 
(chapter 4), we do not see whether he is wearing anything the morning after. After their “magic night” in the United States (Episode 39), the next morning, he is only shown taking a shower 
(chapter 40) —meaning the audience never sees him leaving the bed. However, in Episode 45, the author deliberately includes a shot of Jaekyung leaving the bed while still wearing his black boxer briefs. 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 45). This is just a rhetorical question, as he clearly remembers the night. 
(chapter 45) In reality, he was wondering why he had acted this way. This contradiction—pretending to forget while consciously recalling their time together—reflects his internal denial. His next thought, 
(chapter 45) is a transparent excuse to avoid confronting his emotions. The presence of the black underwear in this scene confirms that he had not fully lowered his guard; he still maintained a psychological barrier between himself and Kim Dan.
(chapter 22), Jaekyung’s guardian likely did the opposite. 
(chapter 63) In the beginning, the champion grabbed doc Dan’s wrist. This shows that the athlete was not used to touch Kim Dan’s hand. And notice how the “hamster” reacted 
(chapter 63) He pushed it away. This means that taking the doctor’s hand represents the biggest challenge for Joo Jaekyung right now. In addition, the last panel indicates the champion’s transformation, he is now willing to seek the doctor’s closeness. It also implies the vanishing influence from his past guardian.
(chapter 5) At the same time, it would highlight the potential danger of Park Namwook’s vision for the gym: an institution that might perpetuate the same cycle of control, shame, and expectation rather than fostering true passion and individuality in young athletes. That’s how I realized why the manager slapped his “boy” after the funny sparring: 
(chapter 26) He explained that the main lead was just a doctor. However, I am quite certain, underneath, the manager thought that doc Dan was not fit to spare: so small and weak. He doesn’t fit the criteria to become a sparring partner. Look at his reaction, when Seonho faced the champion: 
(chapter 46) Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Potato was also neglected by the manager. The young maknae belongs to a different weight category. There is this invisible rule that only strong people can become member from the gym. However, the purpose of such an institution shouldn’t be reduced to titles, strong and muscular men or boys. The gym should be opened to anyone who desires to have fun and improve their health.
(chapter 1), until he received the doctor’s massage in chapter 1. His attitude toward sex mirrors his training in the gym—focused on endurance, performance, and control. His body is a tool, a machine honed for efficiency. 
(chapter 63) Pleasure is secondary; the real goal is lasting, enduring, proving his stamina. Even in his most intimate moments, he is competing against an invisible opponent—his own ingrained fear of inadequacy.
(chapter 63), why he keeps barriers between himself and Kim Dan, even when his body betrays his true desires.
(chapter 62) 
(chapter 4) nudity was a tool of dominance, a means of asserting control. Now, it has become a sign of submission—not in the physical sense, but in the way he is slowly relinquishing the emotional armor he has always relied upon. 
(chapter 63), but of his silent battle against the vulnerability he is beginning to feel. 
(chapter 62), the doctor’s memory got triggered. Because of his past experiences, he has long associated the jinx exclusively with sex. This contrast in understanding highlights both Jaekyung’s lack of self-awareness and Kim Dan’s tendency to filter reality through his own expectations and trauma. However, the deeper significance lies in Jaekyung’s evolving perception of dependency. His jinx is no longer just a superstition tied to his performance in bed. It now subtly acknowledges that his success has been intertwined with Kim Dan’s intervention. 
(chapter 61) By entrusting his care to Kim Dan, he was insinuating that the main lead was trustworthy and competent, yet his inability to verbally express appreciation keeps the doctor unaware of his true feelings. This struggle resurfaced in front of the hospice, where Jaekyung could only bring himself to admit that Kim Dan was not responsible for the incident with the switched spray. 
(chapter 13) because they affected the doctor’s life? 
(chapter 41) In one case, he refused to listen to his friend’s advice, whereas he trusted the words from MFC, MFC doctors and his hyung. When the foundation he has relied upon begins to crack, Jaekyung’s entire mindset is shaken, forcing him to question whether his past truly holds the answers he seeks. We could say, the athlete needs to be betrayed by his own past in order to throw his old belief. The latter is strongly intertwined with the organization MFC and authorities in general. Questioning his past equals challenging the company MFC and his past “guardians”: the terrifying ghost and even his two hyungs. 
(chapter 29) The origins of his struggles existed before his recent failures, suggesting that his belief in a simple solution—reclaiming his title—is an illusion. This disconnect reveals how deeply his professional and personal life are entangled; his need for control in the ring has masked his deeper emotional vulnerabilities. He isn’t merely striving for victory—he is chasing the illusion of stability, believing that his success is the sole factor that determines his well-being. 
(chapter 29), you will realize that alone in his penthouse, Joo Jaekyung was actually admitting the importance of sleep and rest. His earlier belief in relentless training as the key to success now clashes with his realization that exhaustion is affecting him. This shift signifies an unconscious admission that his well-being is not just tied to physical endurance but also to recovery and relaxation—something he previously dismissed. This realization subtly parallels his growing dependence on Kim Dan, reinforcing the theme of blurring lines between his professional and personal life. And what had occurred after this magical blue night in the penthouse? 
(chapter 30) The athlete woke up later than usual. In fact, he was rather late, for he was still wearing his pajamas, while the doctor had already taken his shower. But back then, observe how he opened the door! Like a clumsy beast, grump leopard! Why? In the past, I explained that he was seeking the champion’s closeness, but didn’t know how to approach his partner. I am now adding another aspect. He was actually annoyed, because he had not been following his daily routine!! Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the champion had such a “angry” facial expression, while deep down he was happy. The older version of this scene: 
(chapter 31) In fact, he used guilt to create a link between him and his roommate. That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the champion will sleep better after this lavender-tinted night. 
(chapter 62) won’t come true at all. 😉 He will stay longer and ask for Kim Dan’s presence during the night.
(chapter 56) and opportunities that could offer him security, convincing himself that he is protecting his independence when, in truth, he is reacting to past trauma rather than making an intentional choice.
(chapter 46) 
(chapter 46)
(chapter 62) If he continues making decisions based on past fears, he will remain trapped in the same cycle, unable to experience true growth or emotional fulfillment.
(chapter 3), which has been the setting of power imbalances, physical dominance, and silence, the living room represents a shared space—a place where dialogue and openness can exist. But why is the bedroom linked to silence? It is because of the TV, the third invisible companion! 
(chapter 48) Hence during that night, none of the protagonists talked sincerely to each other. And now pay attention to the living room at the hostel: 
(chapter 54) He needed to get rid of this poor habit: watching TV or cellphone. He had to realize that the TV or cellphones were never real companions and never brought him peace of mind! This was the invisible “love” triangle. Back then, the athlete deceived himself by thinking that he was truly self-reliant, while in verity he was dependent on his cellphone and the TV. 
(chapter 59) Striking is that here the doctor didn’t apologize to the elderly man, but only to the family. 
(chapter 59) 
(chapter 62) – which is quite understandable in my eyes. The ones who failed the couple were the two other hyungs from my perspective. The past affected the doctor so much that he views himself and his feelings as “trash” now, yet it is clear that neither Park Namwook nor the coach are suffering from guilt or remorse. The star’s follow-up statement, 
(chapter 62) further reinforces that Kim Dan has become an integral part of his preparation. Although Jaekyung does not yet frame this as emotional reliance, his words betray an unconscious attachment—one that Kim Dan himself does not recognize. Moreover, by including him in his jinx, the champion is only one step closer to include him in his “success”. Should the doctor be the target of malicious comments, the star will consider it as a personal assault or as his responsibility.
(chapter 56), but about something deeper. Here he felt the need to see his beloved “companion” again. 
(chapter 62) This means that he is now treasuring his own body. No wonder why he smiled. 
(chapter 62) That’s why I come to the following conclusion: The athlete must have felt happy in the living room, for he felt comfortable and safe.
(chapter 62) But why did he show his back? One might say that he desired to hide his “satisfaction” and his “reliance” on his fated partner. Or he didn’t feel the need to watch the doctor’s facial reaction, when he would confide his new intentions and the transformation of his jinx. He didn’t expect the physical therapist to mock him for his absurd belief contrary to episode 2: 
The doctor is treating the star 
(chapter 50), allowing others to step in instead. Later, rather than addressing his inaction, 
(chapter 53), as if the past never happened. By doing so, he reinforces Jaekyung’s belief in his so-called ‘jinx,’ manipulating the fighter’s perception of events and contributing to a distorted memory of reality. Meanwhile, the manager must face the reality that change is inevitable and that Jaekyung’s evolution does not mean his own irrelevance. However, his position must change.
(chapter 59)
(chapter 5) He felt so empowered that he won very quickly. 
(chapter 5) But this good vibe was attributed to the sex with Kim Dan and unfortunately linked to his match. The reality was that he had slept better and longer. So by recreating the past, Kim Dan places the athlete in front of a choice. What matters in his life? His title or his peace of mind? He is correcting the champion’s distorted memory. Kim Dan is the reason why he can rest properly and not the title. Don’t forget that he was suggesting to go separate ways during the massage. But if he sleeps better before gaining his title, he won’t feel the urge to return quickly to the ring. In the living room, he was still acting as the celebrity, but in the bed chamber he is now gradually pushed to leave his title out of the bedroom. Now, in the bedroom he becomes a man and can almost make a mistake as a lover. 
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 